


Where or When

by shadowed_sunsets



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Divorce, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Greg is a modern cupid, M/M, Mycroft is a good friend and a good brother, Pre-Season/Series 01, Romance, Sherlock is a brat at times, but he prefers the term 'matchmaker', but no infidelity, slight angst, slight magical realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-02-26
Packaged: 2019-03-24 04:23:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13803318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowed_sunsets/pseuds/shadowed_sunsets
Summary: His entire life Greg Lestrade has had the ability to help people find their perfect matches, whether they will be platonic or romantic partners. It's a gift that has been passed down in his family for generations.The one thing his gift isn't useful for is helping Greg find his own perfect match.He thought he was happy, and that his life was going as well as he could hope for. That he should be satisfied with what he had.Then he met the Holmes brothers, and well... everything changed.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Mystrade Valentine's Calendar 2018 over on tumblr, run by the lovely and ever so patient mottlemoth!
> 
> I was initially inspired by one of the prompt offerings, and well 24k words later here we are!
> 
> Special thanks to the tirelessly helpful and wonderful pipmer who continues to willingly help me.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this! Thanks!

Here’s the thing.

No one in his family was surprised at all when Greg announced he was going to become a police officer.

Well, maybe they were a little surprised since he’d spent most of his teen years with spiked hair and an earring, riding a motorbike and insisting he would become a famous musician.

But after that dream died, Greg realized he wanted to help protect the general public by joining the police. And once he did come to that realization it seemed inevitable, and really what he’d always wanted.

That was why absolutely no one was surprised by his career choice. Public service ran strongly through the Lestrade family blood, passed down through every generation. Every one of them inevitably went into some sector of public service. It was unimaginable in their family to have any other career, even if once Greg had entertained the idea of being a musician.

But there was something else that ran even more strongly through the Lestrade family, something no one outside the family knew about.

There wasn’t exactly a word for it; not one they all agreed on.

In his mind Greg tended to describe it, reluctantly, as ‘matchmaking.’

No, not like how it sounds. There were no arranged marriages, no scientific data to analyze, and no traveling abroad somewhere to match up couples he’d never met. He wasn’t some sort of modern cupid, flying around striking people with arrows to make them fall in love. Honestly, it still confused his family how that specific myth had managed to survive through the centuries.

He didn’t purposefully go out of his way to use his gift, and it didn’t work with everyone. He also couldn’t turn on and off when he wanted.

~~

During his school years it helped him to know who in his classes or at school events or sports matches or at friends’ weekend hangouts should be partnered off. And when he found the right two people for each other sometimes all they needed was a subtle nudge or gentle push towards each other. Or, for those who were a bit more stubborn, or clueless, to be led over and introduced to each other.

That was how he’d known that Jenny and Sam, even though they’d never spoken to each other despite being in class together for months, were perfect for each other. Or that Lisa and Jenna should sit next to each other in the bleachers instead of people always sitting between them.

Or, that his best friend Kevin, who he’d secretly had a crush on for years, would be happier with Josh than with him. Of course Greg had introduced them initially, certain they would get along with all they had in common. He hadn’t known then that the two of them would pair up instead.

That was the one downside of his gift for matchmaking; it never worked for finding a match for him.

He hadn’t known if his first kiss with Janet would be a good idea (it wasn’t, they had no idea what they were doing), if he and Kevin would ever get together (you know about that already), or if he would stay together forever with the woman he’d proposed to (they hadn’t, but that was a later part of this story).

He wasn’t complaining, exactly; matching his friends and being a part of creating successful partnerships was a highlight in his life. A life that otherwise mostly consisted of his job as he tried to prove himself as an officer, and, for a while, being married to the woman he thought he loved and who loved him.

As he worked his way through the ranks of the Met, proving his worth and gaining valuable experience as an officer, Greg became well known amongst those he worked with as a skilled people person with a strong empathetic streak. He became the one people went to when they needed a second opinion, for talking with difficult witnesses or people of interest, or during challenging situations. At crime scenes he became skillful at taking charge after the DI left, partnering people off and delegating assignments.

Everything seemed to be going well at the Met as he tirelessly worked his way towards gaining experience which would hopefully eventually lead to a promotion; while at the same time his perfect personal life seemed to be slipping through his fingers as he and his wife grew apart and saw even less of each other but Greg didn’t know how to fix it.

Then, at a freezing, damp, crime scene outside in the middle of the night while waiting around to actually start investigating, Greg met Sherlock Holmes.

~~  
Well, ‘met’ was a strong word. Honestly their paths more happened to cross when Sherlock turned up at the crime scene after somehow managing to slip past the police tape and other officers. He’d stumbled his way across the rain-soaked pavement to where Greg and a few other officers were huddled together and without any preamble insisted he could solve their crime for them seeing as they were all blind idiots and the solution was obvious.

Greg was lucky enough to be the one chosen to deal with him.

Ignoring the catcalls of his fellow officers as he turned away Greg grabbed the boy’s arm (surprised when he felt damp wool) and began quickly leading him away from the dead body and towards the partially covered entrance of the building across the way.

The boy struggled against him every step of the way, stumbling after Greg as he was pulled along. The further away from the crime scene they went the more he protested. But any words were left somewhere between his throat and the curtain of rain soaked hair. In the end Greg was just trying to wrangle the boy forward, unable to understand a single word.

Once they were safely under the protection of the covered entrance out of the pouring and chilling rain, Greg turned his full attention on the boy again. Unwilling to let go of his arm Greg attempted to prop the boy against the brick wall in an effort to keep him upright.

The boy weakly tried to push Greg’s hands away and his attempt to help, muttering something between chattering teeth. When Greg gave in and left him alone the boy still kept his head down and his face hidden behind his dripping hair, visibly shaking within the confines of his coat.

“Christ, you must be freezing,” Greg muttered, warily eyeing how badly the boy was shaking. He felt like at any moment he would start shaking in sympathy himself.

The boy muttered something that did not sound very kind.

Greg cast an eye out over the crime scene where it didn’t look like he’d missed anything. He couldn’t offer the boy his own jacket since it was soaked through and probably wouldn’t fit him, but he might have something dry and warm in the back of his car.

“Listen, we’re both soaked through and standing out here isn’t doing either of us any good.” The boy made a sarcastic noise that wasn’t as effective given how hoarse he sounded. “I may have something in my car to help you get warm, let’s-.”

“No, absolutely not.”

Greg was shocked by the plainly audible and blatant refusal that came out of the boy in a surprisingly rich and smartly educated voice. He was caught off guard just for a moment, which the boy apparently took as an opportunity to start off on a flat refusal.

“I am not one of your charity cases, I do not need you to take care of me. I am perfectly fine on my own.” The boy broke off for a coughing fit, his entire frame shaking with the effort. Once he recovered he wouldn’t lift his head and look at Greg, carefully maintaining distance between them. “I do not need anyone, especially not a workaholic sargeant with a failing marriage who is only bothering to talk to me because he wants to solve this case himself to impress his superiors.”

Somehow the boy had went from saying nothing understandable to insulting Greg in just a few sentences. Greg felt his mouth fall open even more. At the same time a voice in the back of his head (one that had helped to keep him alive so far) was warning him something was wrong and he was missing something important.

“What? That’s not why I’m talking to you. You’re the one who turned up here saying he could solve this crime.” Greg waved a hand back at the crime scene where it looked like something was finally happening. “I brought you over here so the others wouldn’t strangle you before you could share what you know. And so you wouldn’t freeze from the cold or drown in the rain.”

The boy made a sharply skeptical noise and turned his head away, muttering something under his breath Greg couldn’t hear.

Greg chose to ignore that and help the boy focus instead. “Listen,” he said, leaning in and lowering his voice. He couldn’t smell any alcohol on the boy’s breath, which was a bit of a relief but also meant something else was wrong. “All I need is you to tell me what you know about what happened here. I’ll write it down then we can get you somewhere warm and dry.”

“You aren’t listening! I said I don’t need anything from you!” The boy snapped furiously, trying to huddle further into his coat. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I only bothered talking to you lot because I believed there must be at least one of you who wasn’t enough of an idiot to realize your conclusions so far about this crime are completely wrong.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Greg didn’t have enough energy to try and decipher if it was or what the boy had meant. “All right, fine. You think you don’t need anything from us. Then I won’t bother pointing out how badly you’re shaking right now or how soaked through you look.”

When the boy made another scoffing noise Greg raised his voice a little, putting more force into his words to try and get the boy past his anger and just listen. “So,” he took out the notepad and pen he kept on hand in his jacket, “Why don’t you tell me exactly why what we’ve found out so far about what happened here, before even starting our investigation, is wrong. And what you think happened instead.”

The boy was surprisingly silent. It made Greg wonder if instead of prompting the boy to share his opinions he’d made him clam up.

Greg searched for something to change his mind. As he did the boy shivered violently, his entire body shaking from it. Then he slowly turned his head just the slightest towards Greg, showing the least possible amount of interest.

Through the dark curtain of rain-soaked hair, for just a moment Greg glimpsed a pale blue-gray eye staring at him, scrutinizing and judging him.

Then the familiar warmth always waiting somewhere deep inside of him flared to life. He looked again at the boy with new eyes, and this time saw past the sharp words and prickly anger to catch a glimpse of the deep loneliness lurking just beneath. His gift whispered in his ear, telling him how the boy needed a friend, a partner, someone at his side to stop his current rapidly downward spiral.

Greg’s hand reached out to firmly grip the boy’s arm, trying to give him an anchor to keep him afloat. Greg didn’t think he was the partner the boy needed, not quite. But he would still do everything he could to help him.

He squeezed the boy’s arm once in an attempt at reassurance. The boy shuddered in response, inhaling shakily as he wrapped his arms around himself, not quite dislodging Greg’s hand.

After a moment the boy cleared his throat and started talking so rapidly, confidently, it completely threw Greg. He released his arm to open his notepad and uncap his pen, scribbling frantically as he tried to catch up to what the boy was saying.

Greg had his own private doubts if all the boy’s theories were even remotely likely but he continued writing them down as long as the boy continued speaking. Despite the boy looking like a drowned, frozen creature and his icy, biting words, Greg believed in following up on every lead in an investigation. Even if it meant talking to some unsavory characters.

When the boy broke off into another coughing fit, Greg closed his notebook and tucked it away in his pocket. The boy nearly bent in half as he continued coughing into the sleeve of his coat. Worried, Greg moved closer to hold the boys arms gently trying to help him straighten so he could breathe.

The boy willingly let Greg manipulate him upright, shivering under Greg’s hands as he thankfully finally stopped coughing. He looked absolutely miserable, and Greg felt that warmth in his chest begin to unfurl again.

Making a sudden decision Greg took his mobile, wallet, and notepad out of his pockets before slipping off his jacket. It wasn’t the warmest and it wasn’t dry, but at least it was another layer. He held it out to the boy and gave him an insistent look to help convince the boy to take it.

The boy glanced at the jacket for a second before quickly looking away. “‘M fine,” he muttered, as if all of his earlier confidence had vanished.

“Take it,” Greg insisted, shaking the jacket at him. “Put this on and stay here while I go share what you told me with the others. Then I’ll bring you over and you can explain how you figured it all out, all right?”

The boy slowly raised his head again, looking very confused and almost… hopeful.

“You believe me?” He asked quietly, shivering faintly.

“Just, stay here.” Greg instructed, softening his voice even as he nearly tossed the jacket at the boy. “I’ll be right back.”

The boy didn’t respond, but he did accept the jacket. Greg nodded his thanks and turned away to walk back across the crime scene.

Unfortunately it took him longer than he’d expected to convince the others to listen. When Greg tried to tell his fellow officers that the strange boy from earlier seemed to have figured out what happened here, they all laughed. Those that had heard the boy’s ranting said he was either a hallucinating junkie or a homeless kid trying to waste police time. It took Greg a while to convince them to at least hear the boy’s theory and afterwards they said it was completely ridiculous. No one would support him taking it to the head officer on the scene.

Finally Greg decided to just wait and see where the investigation went. If it turned out the boy was right then they could bring him in and have him explain how he’d figured it out to see how the two theories came together.

He did feel bad for making the boy wait so long. Even if it didn’t seem like the boy actually had somewhere to be..

Only, when Greg went back to where he’d left the boy, there was no one there.

Greg froze mid-step, trying to understand what he was seeing. He glanced around the cordoned off scene, looking to see if anyone else had seen the boy and taken him aside for questioning.

But he was nowhere to be seen.

One of the officers who had been standing at the police tape guarding the scene walked up to him, carrying his jacket.

“Lestrade? Someone left this for you.” She handed over the jacket and offered him a slight smile. “He said to tell you, and I’m pretty sure these were his exact words, ‘I suppose I should thank you for listening. Instead I’ll thank you for the jacket. I’ll see you again once you realize I was right.’”

“... All right.” Greg was pretty sure he was staring. He shook out his jacket, finding it just as soaked through as he’d expected. “Thanks. You didn’t see which way he left did you?”

“No, he walked off as soon as he finished talking. While he was talking actually.” She winced slightly at the memory. “But I did see a black car waiting just down the road past the tape.”

A black car. Interesting, but probably nothing.

The boy had claimed he’d see Greg again once they realized he was right. Which meant if they managed to close this investigation quickly that would be soon. He could only hope that by then the boy would be in better health. If only he had managed to convince the boy to give him his name Greg could have tried to check up on him.  
~~~  
Nearly a week later they had finally finished their investigation, successfully gathering all the evidence they needed to arrest the guilty culprits.

Greg was only slightly surprised when it turned out the boy had been right, just like he’d claimed. Well, mostly right.

He expected the boy to appear from nowhere and gloat about how he’d known what had happened from the beginning when it took the rest of them days to come to the same conclusion by actually investigating.

But the boy never turned up. Even after they closed the investigation and reports were written and turned in, Greg still kept watching for the boy and thinking about him.

As he went about his daily routine and investigated other crimes, Greg looked out for a tall thin figure topped with dark curls shadowing his steps. He asked around the Yard to see if anyone else had seen or spoken with the boy but no one recognized the description. His wife even accused him of not paying attention to her during their now rare and limited time together as he found himself almost constantly wondering about the boy.  
~~  
Several weeks and investigations later Greg was standing outside a block of flats in the middle of the night, running on very little sleep and jittery from all the caffeine just waiting to be given something to do, when he heard his name being called from further down the street.

He turned to see another officer trying to catch his attention, looking harried as she walked rapidly towards him. Once she was close she started telling him there was a boy waiting at the tape loudly insisting on speaking with him specifically and refusing to leave. She said she’d threatened to arrest him or throw him off the crime scene but the boy had just laughed and told her to go get him.

Greg knew very well who it was. He apologized to the officer then started off to find the boy and tell him off for taking so long to show up again and for making such an annoyance of himself at the scene.

But she called out again and Greg turned around only for her to tell him the boy was just a homeless junkie, likely high as a kite, who got off lurking around crime scenes and not worth their time.

Greg opened his mouth to argue with her (even if the boy was homeless and a junkie it was still their duty to take care of the public). But he decided he didn’t have the time if he wanted to get to the boy before he vanished again.

When Greg ducked under the crime scene tape and past the barriers it was quick work to find the boy waiting leaning against the building, nearby but out of the way. As Greg stopped in front of him the boy quickly glanced up... and Greg felt his heart wither in despair.

He hadn’t wanted to believe the officer but the boy was obviously as high as a kite. Even though he wasn’t shaking from cold or soaked through with rain this time, he looked even worse than before.

Greg cursed under his breath and reached out to wrap his fingers around the boy’s wrist, finding a racing fluttering pulse that worried him even more. “You idiot, what have you done to yourself?”

“I’m here to help, obviously,” the boy responded with a sarcastic scoff. His pale eyes were unnaturally bright, almost luminous against his pale glossy skin. “You barely managed to solve the last crime without me even when I told you the obviously correct solution from the beginning. If you listen to me right now this time you will save countless hours of legwork and investigating. I can help you solve this, just let me in to see the scene.”

“That isn’t happening, son,” Greg refused sternly, paying careful attention to the boy’s still racing pulse under his fingers. This was not what Greg had wanted to happen. “You need to go home and sleep this off. You’re not well and I will absolutely not allow you on a crime scene in this condition.”

“My name is Sherlock, I’m not your son,” the boy- Sherlock? spat at him, tugging his wrist out of Greg’s grasp. “And I am perfectly fine, I don’t need your pity. I need to see the crime scene.”

Greg sighed, and rubbed at his brow trying to figure out what he could do to convince the boy. “Listen, Sherlock. You shouldn’t be here. Go home, sleep this off, and look after yourself.”

He took out his notepad and pen and flipped to a blank page. “Once you’re sober and clean yourself up give me a ring and I’ll work out how you can help us from there.”

The boy went off on another rant about how Greg wasn’t listening to him and how he could give the police the help they desperately needed. On the page Greg wrote down his full name, office number, and mobile number then tore it out of the notepad.

In the middle of a sentence the boy broke off to stare in complete confusion as Greg reached over and stuffed the page into one of his pockets. “What are you-?”

“Those are all the numbers where you can reach me. Call me at any time and I will answer and listen,” Greg promised, tucking the notepad and pen back into his pocket. He would have to find a way to tell his wife and try to help her understand later; if she was even there at whatever hour he got home this time. The boy needed someone, and if he could Greg would be that person right now.

“I-“

“Go take care of yourself, Sherlock. Please.” Greg pleaded quietly, feeling his heart break at how obviously ill the boy was even as he fiercely denied it.

The boy stared at him for a long moment, but his pale gaze wasn’t nearly as piercing as last time. Finally the boy huffed, pushing his hands deep into his pockets and turned to walk away down the street from Greg.

Greg wanted to go after him but knew he couldn’t. He just hoped the boy would be strong enough to follow through and get clean so he could help on cases. Until then Greg would just have to wait and hope to hear from him.  
~~~

Weeks later Greg still hadn’t heard anything from Sherlock. He was quickly getting more and more worried until he was left wondering almost constantly what had happened to the boy and where he was now.

They successfully managed to close the case the boy had tried to help on, but it had taken them longer than it really should have. He’d had to spend many late nights and early mornings either in the office or running down leads, which meant little sleep and little time spent at home. In his rare free time Greg found himself checking for new texts or messages.

He was just leaving the office to go home for the night, looking forward to sleeping in his own bed, when his mobile rang.

Dreading being told there was another lead for him to go check out or something else to research, Greg took a deep breath before digging his mobile out and answering.

“Lestrade.”

“Good evening, Lestrade,” an unfamiliar man's voice greeted him, sharp and dripping with politeness despite the hour. “I admire your commitment, it is such a rarity in your profession. That being said, I must speak with you immediately about a very important concern we share. I would like you to join me in the car I have waiting downstairs.”

The voice itself lit something inside of him, warming his bones. But he didn’t have the time to wonder why because the words that came after just irritated him.

Helped by his past experience with politicians and government officials Greg managed to keep his tone polite as he replied. “Sorry, but I don’t have time to talk right now. We’re in the middle of a murder investigation. If you have any issues with the Yard you can take it up with my superiors.”

“I am fully aware you were on your way home for the night. Since you are no longer on duty, I am sure you can take a few minutes of your time to discuss this… shared concern.”

The unshakable confidence of those in power that everyone under them would be sent running at any request never failed to inhibit Greg’s ability to be polite. “I can’t think of any problem we might have in common. And it would be illegal to interfere in a police investigation. So thank you for calling, but I won’t be discussing anything with you.”

The man sighed quietly in his ear, and something in Greg’s chest tightened in response. “Lestrade, I believe you are familiar with someone by the name of ‘Sherlock’?”

“‘Sherlock’?” Greg echoed, caught off guard by the mention of the boy. Greg had been one of two people at the scene to talk with Sherlock and he hadn’t mentioned the boy in his report. How did this mystery man know about him?

“I’ll see you downstairs in my car, Lestrade. Please don’t leave me waiting.”

A moment later the dial tone began to beep in Greg’s ear.

Greg cursed quietly under his breath, checked he had everything he needed, and continued downstairs towards the front entrance of the building.

Outside on the street there was a sole black car idling at the curb. In the light from the street lights it looked even more ominous than it would have in daylight. In Greg’s experience an expensive black vehicle with tinted windows and probably bulletproof sides screamed government car.

When he was only a few feet away the back door opened with a quiet click, silently swinging open to reveal a mostly dark interior with only faint light spilling out.

Greg froze mid-step, waiting for someone to step out and either threaten or manhandle him into the car.

But instead there was just the same voice from on the phone, politely requesting, “Please join me, Lestrade.”

This car was for him then. If only he knew what kind of discussion they were about to have so he could prepare himself.

Greg breathed deeply and walked the rest of the way to the car then bent down to peer inside.

He nearly hit his head on the top of the frame at the sight of the man sitting inside waiting for him. Luckily Greg had a hand on the door he could use to steady himself without looking like an idiot.

“Thank you for joining me, Lestrade,” the man said as Greg managed to actually slide inside without further embarrassing himself. To Greg’s relief the man had yet to take his eyes off the phone in his hand to look at Greg.

“Well, I needed a lift home anyways, and you didn’t make it sound like I had much of a choice,” Greg answered, realizing after he said it that he should probably be a bit more respectful to the man who in some sense had just kidnapped him.

A powerful man with enough influence to use a government issued vehicle for kidnapping a poor sergeant like himself and who wore a three piece suit while being driven around in a government car close to midnight to hold important discussions. And a man who still seemed completely focused on his phone and ignoring Greg.

Greg was sure this was all meant to intimidate and unsettle him. And maybe if it was anyone else it would. But Greg just sat in silence as the car pulled away from the curb and started down the road while the man continued fussing with his phone. Greg thought he might have seen the man’s mouth twitch at his comment but couldn’t be sure.

A few streets later Greg was ready to break the silence, trying to decide whether to just ask what the man wanted or say something to try and startle him.

Before he could decide the other man sighed quietly and locked his phone, setting it screen side down on the seat next to him.

Then he finally looked up and Greg got his first real look at the man.

The man wouldn’t necessarily be considered handsome by typical society standards. But Greg’s early years of experimentation had helped him realize it wasn’t necessarily conventional beauty that turned his head. Whether it was a man or a woman, physical beauty wasn’t the only part of attraction.

His gift of course wasn’t any help figuring out who he would have a successful relationship with. It was mostly all guesswork on his part.

But a very small part of him was willing to try with this man, even though so far he had only threatened, kidnapped, and ignored Greg. In that order.

The ride continued in silence as Greg and the mysterious man continued staring at each other, light from the street lights flickering across their faces. Greg had thought the man setting aside his mobile was a sign they might actually start a conversation, but it seemed he was wrong.

Pale grey eyes held him in place, weighing and judging him in an strangely familiar way; but Greg was too intent on studying the man to give it any further thought. At first he appeared comfortable with the silence as they stared at each other but a quick glance to the side revealed he was tightly gripping his phone.

His clothes were even more impressive this close, obviously finely made and specially tailored and worth more than Greg’s wardrobe combined. Which made sense since if you were going to successfully intimidate people all day you had to make sure you had the right clothes.

The man tilted his head just slightly, his carefully tamed hair still unmoving as he sat perfectly upright on the seat.

But Greg suddenly felt the man was looking down his nose at him, and that he would not put up with.

“So is this just a simple lift home or we having that chat sometime before we reach my flat?” Greg asked, wishing that leaning back in his seat wouldn’t feel like a concession of some sort.

“Quite,” the man murmured, slowly releasing his mobile to lightly place his hands on his knees.

He narrowed his eyes slightly at Greg, and suddenly that gaze felt much more accusatory. “What is your association with Sherlock?”

“My ‘association’?” Greg echoed, confused since he’d only met Sherlock twice. He wouldn’t call that any kind of association. “I’ve chatted with him twice, but not for long. I barely know him.”

“And yet,” the man continued pointedly, taking his time revealing why they were discussing this, “you offered to allow him to help you with cases on the condition of his sobriety. That seems like an unusual offer for someone you’ve only met twice.”

“It was just for the one case, and after he tried to convince me to let him help,” Greg quickly corrected. “He seems like a good kid, he just also has a drug problem. That first time he told me almost exactly what had happened before we even began investigating. So I know he could be helpful.”

Greg sighed quietly, looking away from the man for the first time. “Not that it really matters since I haven’t heard from him in weeks. He obviously hasn’t taken my offer seriously. And the case is already closed anyway.”

“Interesting,” The man replied cryptically. Greg thought the man might possibly be pleased about something. “As for the case already being solved, I am well aware,” He sounded slightly unimpressed with the Yard’s crime solving abilities. “However, you may have solved it even more quickly with Sherlock’s help.”

Right, now it was time for Greg to ask some questions. “How exactly did you know about Sherlock turning up at crime scenes? I didn’t include it in my report, and as far I know only one other person saw him.”

The fingers of the man's right hand curled slightly, as if missing something he was used to holding. Greg found his eyes drawn to the slender pale digits. “I worry about him, constantly. Therefore I am in the habit of tracking his movements on surveillance cameras whenever he allows himself to be seen. This is not the first time he has trespassed onto an active crime scene; however, it was the first time someone stopped to talk to him instead of forcibly removing him.” The man’s voice dropped slightly, for just a split second becoming warmer. “I found myself intrigued.”

“Why exactly are you so worried about Sherlock that you’ve put him under surveillance?” Greg asked, leaning forward in his seat as he finally started participating in the conversation. He found himself protective of the boy even though they didn’t know each other well. “He isn’t some sort of government project is he?”

The man looked irritated at Greg’s attempt at humor, shifting in such a way that gave the impression of looking down at Greg again. “He is not. And as I said, in all of his previous attempts to convince the police to listen to him, he has been ignored and forcibly removed. He also has a very severe drug addiction. Therefore my decision to surveil and track him is for his own protection.”

Greg had the growing suspicion that this wasn’t just any government official who had kidnapped him. This man had a very close connection with Sherlock. Just to be sure, Greg asked, trying and likely failing at sounding casual, “How did you know I’d made that offer to let him help on a case as long as he cleaned himself up first? I know I didn’t mention it to anyone and I didn’t think those cameras have sound. Your lip reading skills must be very impressive.”

“They are, in fact,” the man replied, that confusing pleased note back in his voice. “One of my many skills. However, the reason I am aware of your offer is because the last time I visited Sherlock in the ruin he calls a flat, I found him willingly suffering through withdrawal. When I asked why he was doing so willingly this time, he handed me this.” He reached into a pocket of his suit jacket and drew out a slip of paper.

Greg squinted at the paper, but in the low light he couldn’t make out if anything was written on it. “And that is…?” Greg asked, trailing off in the hope that the man would finish. He also wanted to ask why this man had visited Sherlock in his ‘ruin of a flat.’

Greg was treated to a severe look of disappointment. It took him right back to his school years and being called in front of the teacher. “Surely you are intelligent enough to recognize your own handwriting. You are the one who gave this to Sherlock, aren’t you?”

The man extended his hand, the piece of paper in between two fingers. Greg reached out to take it from him, careful not to accidentally brush the other man’s hand. He turned slightly trying to hold the paper up to catch the light from outside. It did look like his handwriting and he could just make out his name and phone numbers.

“Yeah, I gave that to Sherlock. I’m glad to hear I managed to get through to him, I wasn’t sure if it worked.” Greg turned to the man again, not yet willing to give the piece of paper back. “But why were you visiting Sherlock? Trying to force him to get sober? That doesn’t usually work you know, sometimes it just makes them more determined.”

The man glanced away from Greg, not quite quickly enough to hide the pain that crossed his face. “I am well aware of that. Sherlock has always been a difficult and willful creature, but he especially enjoys being contrary whenever I attempt to offer him guidance. Or, as he interprets it, to control his life.”

Finally, finally, everything made sense. And Greg mentally kicked himself for not putting it all together sooner.

Confident in his conclusion Greg leaned forward, settling his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. “Younger brothers never seem to understand you’re only trying to help them, not tell them what to do with their life.”

Greg witnessed those gray eyes widen in panic and his already pale face whiten for a brief second. It was an alarming change from his previous emotionless aloofness as he directed the conversation. Greg felt almost tempted to reach out and try to comfort him. But then, from one second to another, the panic was forced away and Greg only saw a tired, weary human being.

“Exactly so.” The man said with a quiet sigh. His hands curled into fists on his knees; and for the first time since Greg entered the car his prim upright posture slumped. “Ever since I found myself with access to such resources I have tried to keep a watchful eye on Sherlock. However, whenever we meet in person he refuses to admit he has a drug addiction or that it is dangerous and he should let me help him. I have attempted to give him reasons to permanently free himself from it and have offered to find him a highly recommended private rehabilitation facility. Every time he refuses and accuses me of trying to control his life.”

His lips pressed together into a thin, pained line. “I had nearly given up hope that he would see reason and make the choice on his own.” He slowly raised his head to give Greg a considering look. “Then you appear in his life and offer him the ability to consult on cases which makes him willingly choose to become sober.” A twitch of his mouth. “You are a very interesting man, Officer Lestrade.”

“Greg,” Greg corrected, holding out his hand. The man looked surprised at this, but after a moment reached out to take Greg’s hand.

“Mycroft,” he finally introduced himself, shaking Greg’s hand firmly. Greg finally had a name to call him in his head instead of just the mysterious powerful government man. “Holmes.”

“‘Holmes’?’ Greg repeated, trying to figure out why the name sounded vaguely familiar. Maybe he had heard someone mention it once in passing.

“Yes. My, and Sherlock’s, surname.” Mycroft- Mr. Holmes?- released Greg’s hand to slip his into one of the breast pockets of his jacket. He drew out a small, thin black case and opened it to take out a small card.

As he handed the card to Greg, Mycroft explained, “This is my business card, with both my personal and work numbers.”

“Oh,” Greg said quietly, taking it with just a little hesitation. Did this mean he had actually managed to make a good impression? It felt like he’d passed some sort of test or judging Mycroft had given him. “Thanks.” He placed it securely in his pocket.

Mycroft was silent for several long moments; long enough Greg almost started to feel uncomfortable again. But they seemed to have just cleared some level in their acquaintance where Greg could begin to relax around the man. “Lestrade, Gregory,” Mycroft corrected himself, “You were serious about offering to let Sherlock consult on cases, weren’t you?”

“Well, for that one case, yes,” Greg slowly agreed, and briefly glanced out the window as he added, “But I don’t actually have the authority to hire Sherlock as a consultant. He can help me on cases but it wouldn’t be in any official capacity.”

“I can easily take care of that, Lestrade,” Mycroft quickly reassured him with a hint of his earlier mysterious government official act. “I merely want to be certain you would be willing to allow Sherlock to help you on cases before I visit him again. If he knows such an opportunity will be waiting for him once he successfully completes his rehabilitation, I believe it would ensure he remains permanently sober this time.”

“Well, if you can find a way to get the paperwork cleared, then I suppose so, yes.” Greg wondered for a moment just how brilliant Sherlock would be without his brain muddled by drugs. “I know he would be very helpful solving cases. Especially with some of our more difficult or complicated ones.”

“Thank you, Lestrade. I appreciate it more than I can say,” Mycroft told him, and he did sound very grateful. Mycroft really did care about his brother, even if it sounded like there wasn’t very much love lost between the siblings. “I have your numbers where I can reach you. I will keep you updated and let you know when Sherlock leaves for the facility and when he will be available to you again. And,” he added, a little uncertain, “You have my numbers as well. I may not always be available when you try to contact me, but I will always respond in time.”

The car suddenly rolled to a slow stop, and Greg looked out the window to see they were now idling outside his building.

“I believe this is your stop,” Mycroft announced with a faint smile. He leaned across to open the door for Greg. “Thank you again, Lestrade. I will be in touch.”

“Thanks. It’s been…interesting, Mr. Holmes.” Greg answered with a smile of his own. He wasn’t sure if that was the right word but it made Mycroft’s smile widen, so that was all right. “Look forward to hearing from you.”

With that for his last word Greg climbed out of the car to step out onto the pavement. He pushed the door closed after him with a light shove then stood watching what used to be an intimidating black car drive away down the road.

Hopefully he would hear from Mycroft, or Sherlock, again. Maybe even soon. Either way Greg actually found himself looking forward to the day he heard from them again.

——  
‘Soon’ turned out to be anything but.

Weeks passed, then a month, and then several months. Long days and nights went by filled with investigations and cases, broken up by nights spent alone in the flat or rare moments spent with his wife that always inevitably spiraled into a fight or argument.

Greg didn’t know how he could have made such a poor choice of someone to spend the rest of his life with. Once there had been strong feelings, and a deep love, between them; Greg was sure of it. But now, they just seemed to constantly annoy each other. Sometimes he even wondered if it was worth trying to make their marriage work. His gift let him help all of these other people find their perfect matches or partners; why couldn’t it help him do the same? The few times he’d tried to ask his mum or dad he’d never been given a straight answer.

When he’d climbed into the black car waiting for him Greg expected to meet just another government official with too much power for his own good; someone he would have to politely but firmly tell to sod off. He had never expected Mycroft. Mycroft had been… interesting.

As Greg went through the days he kept his mobile close at hand, waiting for it to ring or checking for messages from Mycroft.

But his mobile remained frustratingly quiet as the months passed and his life went on. Finally Greg came to the painful realization that maybe he would just never hear from either Holmes again.

* * *

 

When nearly half a year had passed Greg almost gave up hope. He knew the length of time patients remained at rehab facilities depended on a number of factors, but Sherlock was unique. How long would it take for him to permanently become fully sober? If Sherlock had hopefully decided to go through with it.

Then one evening as he took a break to walk to one of his favorite restaurants close to the office for some takeout, out of the corner of his eye Greg thought he saw one of the cctv cameras on the corner of the building ahead of him rotate around to look at him.

Greg stopped in the middle of the pavement, letting the foot traffic flow around him. He stared at the camera, trying to decide if he was just imagining things. When it didn’t move again or do anything suspicious Greg sighed - he was getting paranoid - and resumed walking.

A few streets later Greg stopped to wait for the traffic light to change, and as he waited he thought he saw movement again. Greg turned his head to look left towards the building across the street to spot a camera halfway up the building pointed at him.

Greg frowned at it, squinting a little. Was it actually pointing at him or was there something else on this corner? He glanced around at the other buildings but it was all stores and restaurants, nothing significant.

The traffic light changed so Greg followed everyone else across the street. Then as soon as he stepped foot on the other corner Greg stopped again and looked back at the camera.

It had apparently tracked his movements and was now pointed directly at him again. Which meant whoever was manipulating it was watching him.

Greg took a large step backward, and the camera turned to follow. Feeling very uneasy Greg stepped to the side and watched as it moved again.

At this point he was very tempted to make a rude gesture at the camera, just to irritate the person on the other side. But there were other people, civilians, around and he was an officer of the Yard.

Maybe he had enjoyed too many spy dramas in his time but Greg half expected the light to start blinking at him in Morse code or to flash some kind of message. He stood there waiting for something to happen.

Seconds went by and nothing happened; after several minutes Greg finally decided he really was just being paranoid and needed to get to the restaurant before he ran out of time.

He was halfway down the street and just steps away from the restaurant when his mobile began to ring in his pocket. Greg sighed quietly and reached in to pull it out. He couldn’t even spend time by himself on his break without work interfering.

Greg pressed a button and held the phone up to his ear to answer, “Lestrade.”

“Good evening, Lestrade.”

All the irritation and paranoia washed away at the familiar and very welcome voice. “Mycroft. Mr. Holmes,” Greg exhaled in relief, relaxing for what felt like the first time in months. “I’m glad to finally hear from you.”

“Yes, I apologize for taking so long to get in touch.” Mycroft did sound apologetic which made Greg feel better. There was some loud noise in the background that made it a little hard to hear but Greg was just happy to talk to him. “There were some unforeseen challenges which lengthened the process more than anticipated.”

“What unforeseen difficulties? Is Sherlock all right?” He hoped Mycroft would contact him if Sherlock was now healthy and had successfully survived rehab; but if something horrible had happened Greg supposed he also wanted to know. Mycroft had sounded so certain Sherlock would be willing to go through rehab with Greg’s offer as incentive, but he hadn’t actually heard what had happened until now.

“My brother is perfectly fine. He was released from the rehabilitation facility and is now staying in my home for the foreseeable future. At the moment he is currently taking measures to make himself at home by rearranging everything to his own… preferences.” Greg coughed to cover his amusement at how put upon and politely irritated Mycroft sounded. Greg was pretty sure he’d used exactly the same tone in the past when complaining about something one of his own younger siblings had done to him.

“If you’d let me go to my own place and wasn’t holding me hostage in your mausoleum of a home, then I wouldn’t have to try to make it actually livable!”

Greg couldn’t quite restrain his laughter this time; it was a relief to hear Sherlock’s voice again, even if he sounded like an overdramatic child. “It sounds like you two are getting along well.”

“There are many reasons why we rarely spend any extended length of time together,” Mycroft admitted over the loud slamming of a door. “Exceptions are made only for special occasions and when it is absolutely necessary.”

“And this is one of those times when it’s absolutely necessary?” Greg asked just to be sure and also to tease Mycroft just a little. “You’re a good man. Sherlock is lucky to have you as a brother.”

“If only he believed that as well,” Mycroft mused quietly, a touch of sadness in his voice. “We were close once, when we were young. But now he seems barely willing to tolerate my presence for any length of time.”

“Well, you’re still a good brother,” Greg confided, a little touched that Mycroft was beginning to open up to him. “Younger siblings just don’t always see that. Not everyone would be willing to support their brother to go to rehab multiple times. Or be willing to help them through it. Or be willing to let their brother stay with them once they leave.”

“It is still yet to be seen how long we will be able to cohabitate before bloodshed is involved. Or perhaps this will end in fratricide instead.”

A few seconds passed as Greg tried to decide how to react to that statement. Eventually he asked cautiously, “Was that meant to be a joke?”

“If you feel the need to ask then it seems it was a poor attempt at one,” Mycroft replied with another surprising hint of humor. “But yes it was. If anything Sherlock will shortly find means to successfully escape from mine to return to his own home.”

“I don’t know that much about this entire process, but that doesn’t sound like it would be a good thing.” Greg glanced around, carefully keeping out of the way of people, and noticed the camera across the street was back in its original position. “Is there a reason you’ve been following me with the cctv cameras? I just want to help Sherlock; if there’s anything I can do please just let me know.”

Mycroft was silent for a while and Greg wondered if they’d been disconnected. Or if Mycroft was trying to decide whether Greg could be trusted with his brother. Finally he heard Mycroft sigh quietly before he began to speak.

“I was merely using the cameras to track you because I wanted to find out where you were in order to talk to you confidentially. I apologize if you found it threatening in any way,” Mycroft said, reassuringly apologetic and offering an explanation that made it slightly less threatening in hindsight.

“I do believe there is something you can help me with, Lestrade,” Mycroft added over the sound of rustling papers and the faint music that had started playing. “Sherlock is still in the process of recovering from his addiction even though he is now staying in my home under my observation. He is obviously not yet ready for any serious consulting. However, if once you return to the Yard tonight you could find several cold cases Sherlock can look over and likely solve, we would both appreciate it. ”

“I can try, sure,” Greg quickly decided, eager to help Sherlock and prevent any bloodshed between the brothers. “But first you have to guarantee Sherlock has clearance to view Yard case files, even cold cases, and that the files won’t leave your home. I have a feeling your place is just as secure as the file room at the Yard.”

“You would be correct, Lestrade. There are times when I find myself unfortunately having to conduct work from my office at home, so security is essential. I also promise to take responsibility for any concerns regarding Sherlock’s use of case files.”

Greg’s mobile made a noise to notify him he’d received a new text, but he ignored it. “All right, that’s good enough for me. I can gather some cold case files and have them ready. How should I get them to you?”

“I will have my assistant come pick them up from you at the Yard later today, if that is convenient. I would come myself but I would rather not leave Sherlock alone or unattended for any length of time. He is more than capable of finding some way to escape or cause destruction in even a limited time span.” After a short lapse of silence Mycroft said warmly, “I really do appreciate all of your willingness to help Sherlock, Gregory. Very few people have been so kind towards my brother in his life.”

“It’s really no problem, Mycroft. And honestly we’re both benefiting here. I just want to be sure this all stays above board so Sherlock will be able to consult in the future.” Consultants weren’t unusual for the Yard but Sherlock wouldn’t be a normal consultant. There were a few times in the past when cases were tossed out because of technicalities overlooked by consultants. They especially needed to avoid those with Sherlock.

“Of course, Lestrade,” Mycroft quickly and willingly agreed, surprising Greg. “If there is anything I can do to help smooth the way please let me know. In the meantime I promise to make sure Sherlock does not destroy the case files or leave my house with them.”

“That would be helpful,” Greg laughed, already trying to decide how else Mycroft could potentially help in the future. Just as long as he didn’t try to kidnap Greg again. “I’ll have those cases ready for your assistant to pick up later. It’s the least I can do on my part to help keep him entertained while you hold him hostage in your home.”

For the first time since the two of them had known each other, Mycroft laughed. It was a pleasant sound, but not one that sounded like it was used very often. “Thank you, Lestrade. I will let Sherlock know he has something to look forward to other than irritating me and playing his violin for the entire neighborhood. Anthea will be by as soon as possible.”

“Good, that’s great. I should go though,” Greg suggested even though he didn’t want to because he was enjoying talking to Mycroft. “Unfortunately we’re only allowed a limited amount of time for breaks and mine is nearly over. You know how crime never sleeps.”

Mycroft favored him with another laugh that warmed Greg’s bones. “Yet another commonality between the government and crime. I do hope you enjoy your meal, Lestrade. I have heard that restaurant has very delicious food. I promise from here on I will not take so long to contact you.”

“I’d appreciate that. Thank you, Mycroft.”

“You are quite welcome, Lestrade. And thank you.”

The dial tone beeped quietly in Greg’s ear. This time instead of feeling irritated Greg chuckled quietly to himself, slipped his mobile back into his pocket, and hurried the rest of the way inside the restaurant.  
\---

By the time Greg found his way out of the cupboard the Yard considered a file room and back up to his desk, almost everyone whose shift had ended was already gone. And those with active cases had been gone for hours investigating. On any other day Greg would probably be on his way home himself. Or gone off to drink somewhere.

Greg dropped the large stack of files he’d found onto his desk then hurried to prevent them from toppling over. Maybe he had went slightly overboard finding cases for Sherlock, but Mycroft had mentioned how important it was to keep Sherlock busy and there was a surprising number of unsolved cases.

Greg was also slightly dreading going home. Which was why he didn’t mind as much as he normally would that he would have to stay here until Mycroft’s assistant showed up. His mobile had remained quiet while he was in the file room, even if there wasn’t the most reliable reception down there.

While he waited, he now had the time for the work emails clogging his inbox that he had been avoiding following up on, and constant paperwork waiting for him.

Sometime later, after he’d lost track of time, Greg was broken out of the haze of paperwork when someone pointedly cleared their throat beside his desk.

Greg would forever deny he jumped at the sound, but he did sit up very quickly from his hunched position over his desk. Then he turned his head to find… Mycroft Holmes of all people standing there next to his desk.

“Mycroft, hello,” Greg greeted as he shifted in his chair so he could look up at the other man. Mycroft was wearing a three piece suit again late at night, which made Greg wonder if that was all the man ever wore. He also had a black umbrella hooked over his arm even though Greg hadn’t heard anyone mention rain today. “How,” Greg looked around the office floor that was somehow completely empty except for them. “How did you get up here?”

“I am a minor official in the British government, Lestrade” Mycroft answered, taking his umbrella off his arm to lean on it instead. “Scotland Yard is one of the many places I have the clearance to access as I wish.” He offered Greg a sort of half-smile. “Especially when a certain officer is working well past his scheduled hours to wait for me.”

“Hang on,” Greg said, closing the report he’d been working on and setting it on top of one of the many piles on his desk. “You said your assistant would pick up the files. Does this mean you’re your own assistant? Is that your secret identity?”

“Not at all,” Mycroft replied, his half smile growing into a real one. “I am far too busy to lead such a double life. And too reliant on Anthea to make things easier when she can. I would never attempt to take anything from her.”

“‘Anthea’ is your assistant?” Greg asked, just to make sure. It was an usual name but a nice one.

“Yes, she is extremely invaluable. Especially when it comes to dealing with some of the irritants one must interact with in my line of work.” Mycroft’s pale gaze swept around the nearly deserted room. “It is constantly surprising how often a pretty young woman is dismissed because of her looks. Anthea finds it entertaining to take advantage of this.”

Greg felt the warmth in his chest that had begun to unfurl after Mycroft appeared fading away. The way Mycroft spoke about this ‘Anthea’ indicated that he obviously cared about her. And she was apparently young and pretty, and had a sense of humor. He gave Mycroft the benefit of the doubt; he knew the bond between boss and assistant was constantly tested and very strong. But still.

“But you came instead of her?” Greg asked, trying to mask the hurt with confusion instead.

“Ah, yes,” Mycroft said, a little hesitant. He glanced around to pause when he saw the standard Yard chair sitting at the desk next to Greg’s. Greg could nearly see the thoughts pass across his face as he debated whether or not he wanted to sit in it. “Anthea was kind enough to persuade me that spending some time away from Sherlock and out of my home was a good idea.”

“Be careful what you’re about to admit to, Mycroft. You are talking to an officer of the Yard,” Greg teased as he stood up about to offer Mycroft his chair. He’d been sitting for too long anyway and maybe Mycroft would find it less offensive.

Mycroft made that sound of laughter again and promised, “I will be careful what I say, then.” He eyed the chair Greg had just abandoned and frowned. “Are those precariously balanced files the ones you found for Sherlock? There are more than I expected.”

“Well you said it was important to keep him busy,” Greg joked, resting a hand on the back of the chair for support. “I figured this would be a good start.”

“A good start yes,” Mycroft agreed as he reached out to check over the files. “It may keep him occupied for the next several days even.”

A few days to potentially solve case files that had been abandoned for who knew how long in the file room. If that was true Sherlock really was brilliant and they were lucky to have him on their side. “I’m happy to help. There’s more where those came from.”

“Thank you, Lestrade,” Mycroft retorted with a hint of amusement. He picked up the stack of files and set them nearer to him, straightening the files as he added, “It is reassuring to know that if all else fails there will be a ready supply of files waiting for Sherlock.”

“I think we can expect more for Sherlock than just that,” Greg told Mycroft quietly but being completely honest. He really did hope that in the future Sherlock would find success as a consultant for the Yard. Anything to keep him from falling back into old habits and becoming the brilliant junkie Greg had first met. “He’ll be fine, Mycroft. Now he has both of us looking after him and together we’ll be able to make a place for him here.”

After a moment to consider it, Greg decided to take a chance. He didn’t really have anything to lose. It was already late and Mycroft was already here. “Listen, Mycroft. If you don’t have to go home right away would you want to stay here for a while? I mean, if Anthea will be alright looking after Sherlock herself.”

Mycroft laughed again, looking up at Greg again finally. “Anthea is perfectly capable of looking after herself and of holding her own against Sherlock. She is fully trained in several disciplines and more than capable of defeating even trained operatives.”

Mycroft set his umbrella against the side of the desk and, after a quiet sigh, reached over to the chair at the desk next to Greg’s. “She also likes Sherlock, which is very helpful for leaving the two of them alone together.”

“Maybe you should stay away longer then,” Greg laughed, feeling a little cheered up. He pushed his chair in and moved out of the way as Mycroft pulled over the other chair.

“I can’t offer you anything with alcohol, but the coffee in the break room might not have completely solidified yet.” Greg fought down his amusement at Mycroft’s politely disgusted expression and offered instead, “Or there might be some tea in a cupboard somewhere for those with more sophisticated palates.”

For a moment after the blankness in Mycroft’s expression Greg wondered if he’d gone too far. But then Mycroft offered a faint smile and slowly sank down into the chair. “Tea would be fine, Lestrade. If it isn’t any trouble.”

“No, I wouldn’t mind more coffee. I’ll probably be staying up late anyways. There’s always more work to be done.” Greg knew it was mostly just an excuse but Mycroft didn’t necessarily need to know that. Or maybe with his minor position in the government Mycroft did know what it was like.

What if Mycroft didn’t want to stay here with him? There were probably more important things he could be doing or other places for him to be. Why would he want to spend time late at night with Greg in an empty office? He shouldn’t be taking up Mycroft’s valuable time. Suddenly Greg felt like an idiot. He should just stop being so afraid and go home and face whatever was waiting for him there.

“Listen, Mycroft,” Greg started, dread and fear sitting heavy in his stomach. He slowly turned around but faltered at Mycroft’s expectant expression. “Um, well. If you’re hungry I ordered too much from the restaurant I ate at earlier so I put it in the refrigerator. It might not be what you’re used to but it’s pretty delicious.”

“I suppose I could try some,” Mycroft replied with a touch of that aloofness from their first encounter back in his voice. Greg didn’t ask why but he did wonder if Mycroft was going to refuse his invitation or turn out to hate the food. They were more familiar with each other now but Greg still found himself second guessing things around Mycroft. Was this what it was always going to be like? “I appreciate your willingness to share.”

“No problem, I’ll be right back with the required nonalcoholic drinks and reheated takeaway food,” Greg promised before turning away and quickly walking towards the break room. “I promise it's the best the Yard has to offer!”  
—  
In the end Mycroft enjoyed the food just as much as Greg (it was delicious even after being reheated), and the tea and coffee wasn’t as awful as it had the potential to be since no one knew how long it had been left in the cupboards.

Greg was also pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoyed spending time and talking with Mycroft. Before now their encounters had been brief and mainly about Sherlock. But this time they spent ages talking about a surprising range of topics as they ate the rest of the leftover food and drank several cups of coffee and tea.

It had been years since Greg had spoken so freely and openly with someone. The other officers Greg went to the pub with sometimes sticked to the safe topics of sports, alcohol, and work stories. As for his wife Greg couldn’t remember the last time they’d actually sat down and had a real conversation. Mycroft was surprisingly easy to talk to, and as their hesitancy around each other faded they moved into an even wider circle of conversation topics. He found himself talking about things he’d never really spoken out loud before; and Mycroft let Greg see past his all powerful government official facade.

Greg found out Mycroft was very well educated and strongly opinionated about a range of topics, including politics. Mycroft had also traveled to an amazing number of places, some which he couldn’t tell Greg any details about, and some places Greg had never heard of. Of course it was mostly for work related travel. But since Greg had never left the country he was still very impressed. Mycroft also had a surprising sense of humor, saying some things that Greg was pretty sure were meant to be jokes.

He was pleasantly surprised to discover that Mycroft was not a powerful self absorbed government official like most of the high ranking government officials Greg had worked with before. Yes, Mycroft had made the effort to try to intimidate Greg but that hadn’t lasted. Mycroft obviously had influence and power in his position but as far as Greg could tell he didn’t take advantage of it carelessly.

In the end they talked for hours, losing track of time until the night shift came through and shocked them by how late it had become.

Greg cleaned up his desk while Mycroft picked up the stack of files and slipped them under his arm as the umbrella was hooked over his arm again. When they were ready Greg slipped on his coat and walked with Mycroft outside to find another black car waiting at the curb.

Mycroft’s last words to him that night were another promise. “I will give you an early warning when Sherlock is released from his home arrest sentence and is available for consulting. Hopefully he will have several resolved cold cases for you as a gift.”

“Looking forward to it,” Greg replied, shaking Mycroft’s proffered hand with a smile before turning and making his way towards the nearest station to head for home.  
\--  
A week later Sherlock turned up at the Yard barely half an hour after Greg received Mycroft’s warning text, dropping a stack of hopefully solved cold case files onto Greg’s desk before collapsing into the chair with an expectant grin.  
——

The next time Greg saw Mycroft was somewhere else he did not expect to see the man - at a crime scene.

Greg was quickly growing impatient waiting for Sherlock to stop flouncing around the dead body looking at things and instead offer some insight about what had happened. This was the second case he’d brought Sherlock on as a consultant (the first had been more or less open and shut) which meant they were still figuring out their process. And learning each other’s quirks.

Greg sighed and crossed his arms. As he continued to wait he glanced around the active crime scene and spotted Mycroft standing beside a familiar black car at the very edge of the crime scene.

Mycroft was staring down with intense focus at the mobile in his hand, seeming to be ignorant of the activity of the crime scene around him. A crime scene he had decided to turn up at without any warning.

Sherlock straightened from his crouched position beside the dead body and adjusted his coat as he turned towards Greg. After taking a deep breath Sherlock began to talk a mile a minute, detailing everything he had observed.

Greg knew he should be writing it all down in his notepad since there was little chance he’d remember all of it or that Sherlock would willingly repeat himself. But instead Greg focused on Mycroft and his slightly irritated expression as he not quite glared down at the phone. Mycroft was probably here for the completely legitimate reason of checking up on Sherlock or involving himself with this case. No matter what was true Greg was just glad to see him.

Sherlock apparently finally realized Greg wasn’t listening to him as he made an almost deafening irritated noise right in Greg’s ear. “Lestrade,” he snapped impatiently and a few seconds later appeared directly in Greg’s line of sight. “Lestrade!”

Greg turned to look at Sherlock, trying to stare him down. “Saying my name again only louder does not make me any more likely to listen to you, Sherlock. Use your words.”

Sherlock huffed noisily, digging his hands into the pockets of his coat. “You asked me to come consult, Lestrade. Does that involve my telling you what I’ve observed about this dead body of yours?”

“Well you did come all this way, so I suppose-”

“What are you even looking at?” Sherlock asked, talking over Greg. He turned to look over his shoulder in the same direction, curious gaze darting around the active crime scene.

Greg knew the moment Sherlock spotted what- or who- Greg had been looking at because of the overdramatic expression of disgust that completely overtook his face. Greg didn’t know if he had ever seen anyone look so comically disgusted.

“What is he doing here?” Sherlock demanded, glaring daggers at his brother as if on hitting their mark they would cause permanent injury. “Did you tell him to come check up on me? He always has to stick his nose in everywhere.”

“No, I didn’t tell him to check on you, Sherlock,” Greg sighed wearily. He wondered if this was normal behavior for the brothers or if they were just being particularly prickly today. “He could be here for another reason.”

Sherlock made a very pointed skeptical noise before he spun around and strode off back to the dead body.

Greg’s mobile chimed in his pocket. He fished it out and read the new text from Mycroft, a man who until now had only called him.

From: Mycroft  
Please let my brother know that it would be unfortunate if his face became permanently frozen in that ridiculous expression. I also would like to speak with you.

Greg snickered at the screen, trying and failing at smothering it. As if Sherlock had been listening and just waiting to interrupt, he marched back over and snatched the phone out of Greg’s hand.

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock quickly read the new text and scoffed, “Very mature, Mycroft.”

Then to Greg’s horror he somehow unlocked the mobile (even though Greg knew it was passcode protected) and was about to respond to the text.

“Sherlock, stop that!” Greg admonished, snatching the phone back from Sherlock. To try and prevent Sherlock from grabbing it again, Greg tucked it inside his jacket pocket. “Go find me more information about our victim. I’ll be right back.”

“What-?”

Ignoring Sherlock’s protest Greg walked away and across the active crime scene. At the crime tape Greg ducked under and pushed past the gathered group of onlookers to where Mycroft was waiting by his car.

As Greg stopped in front of him Mycroft tore his eyes away from his phone to look up and greet Greg with a pleasantly warm, “Lestrade.”

“Mycroft,” Greg replied, matching Mycroft’s welcome greeting. “What brings you to a place like this?”

“I decided to leave my office for some air, and somehow I found myself in this place. Where you seem to be attempting to solve a crime, with Sherlock’s help.” He glanced over Greg’s shoulder at the crime scene behind him. “Once he finishes his strop over the two of us talking you might want to tell my brother that it was the locket, not the ring.”

“I’ll do that,” Greg promised, curious what exactly Mycroft was talking about but decided to hold onto it until he went back to Sherlock. He’d already learned that Sherlock did enjoy explaining things after a little dramatic posturing.

In the meantime Greg would take the opportunity to catch up with Mycroft. “Good to know the world doesn’t come to a standstill if you’re not in the office. Everyone deserves some private time.”

He made what he hoped was a inconspicuous glance at Mycroft’s hands, one still gripping his phone at his side and the other wrapped around the handle of that umbrella. Was it wrong he felt a touch of both warmth and sadness when he saw Mycroft’s fingers were bare? Greg was currently involved in a relationship that was admittedly very strained, but it seemed Mycroft had no such personal involvement. He was unattached. They hadn’t known each other long but Greg was sure that Mycroft was just as unique as his brother but in his own way. Maybe Mycroft didn’t have someone right now but he deserved someone. Everyone deserved someone.

In the time it took Mycroft to form a reply Greg glanced around at their surroundings, outside the private bubble of him and Mycroft. Everyone at the crime scene was doing their part for the investigation, most of the onlookers at the crime tape had wandered off, and the area was otherwise empty of civilians. Greg tried to peek inside the car to see if the infamous Anthea had come along but the windows were tinted. Really no one was paying them attention; they were alone together even out in public.

“Unfortunately the world of politics is rather demanding so I rarely have much time for myself. My danger-prone brother is also a rather significant factor in my limited amount of private time,” Mycroft mused thoughtfully, looking towards Sherlock for a brief moment before returning his gaze to Greg. There was touch of sadness in his voice as he added, “It also doesn’t leave much time to spend with... close acquaintances.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Greg said honestly, lifting a shoulder in a slight shrug. “Since it seems like we’ll be seeing much more of each other from now on.” After a slight pause Greg added, feeling a little unsure of himself, “Though you don’t really strike me as the type to go out and grab a pint.”

“An evening out at a pub or some such place is not my preferred way to spend my free time,” Mycroft agreed with a slight nod. His grip on the handle of his umbrella tightened just for a moment, as he said, “However, perhaps you could convince me otherwise.”

“I’ll do my best. After all,” Greg continued, letting his nerves get the best of him so he fell back on a safe topic, “We have to work together, provide a united front and all. Now Sherlock has both of us to worry about him.”

“Indeed,” Mycroft concurred solemnly. Greg didn’t know how it happened or what he’d said but suddenly the warmth and friendliness in Mycroft’s expression and behaviour of the last few minutes faded significantly. It was almost as if Mycroft had returned to the aloof government official Greg first encountered when Mycroft had tried to kidnap him. “He is lucky to now have you on his side.”

“To have both of us,” Greg tried to correct him; he hoped Mycroft realized that Sherlock did have both of them now. Greg wasn’t trying to replace Mycroft in Sherlock’s life. The brothers’ relationship might be slightly strained at the moment, but a world-weary police officer, however willing to work with Sherlock, was no replacement for an overprotective older brother. “Heaven help us.”

Mycroft cracked a very slight smile at that. But Greg counted it as a victory.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your investigation, Lestrade. I came only to ensure everything was satisfactory, and my brother was behaving himself,” Mycroft revealed, and then looked to his phone as the screen lit up with a quiet chime. “I was unfortunately unable to find the time to be present at the first crime scene Sherlock consulted on, so I thought it prudent to be present at this one.”

“No, no, that’s fine,” Greg quickly reassured the man, trying to ignore the very slight hint of disappointment. Of course Mycroft had come for Sherlock. “I expected you’d turn up eventually at one of our crime scenes. Always good to keep an eye on things.”

“Please don’t take my presence as an indication that I doubt your ability, Lestrade. I assure you it is nothing of the sort,” Mycroft said earnestly, raising his head again to meet Greg’s gaze. “As far as I am concerned you are a very respectable officer.”

Oh god, was Greg blushing? He suddenly felt a rush of warmth as the connection between them strengthened from its momentary rocky state. Why did he always feel like he was walking on eggshells around Mycroft? “Thanks,” Greg eventually managed.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Unfortunately it seems a situation has arisen at the office that requires my immediate attention. I must leave Sherlock to you and wish you good luck.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket then held out his hand to Greg. “Thank you again, Lestrade.”

“No problem, Mycroft,” Greg said taking Mycroft’s offered hand in a firm handshake. Maybe one day Mycroft wouldn’t be so needlessly polite with him. “Go look after the world, we’ll handle the crime in London.”

“I have no doubt of it,” Mycroft remarked sincerely, taking his hand from Greg and slipping both hands into his coat pockets. “I hope to see you again soon.”

“Hopefully it won’t be long,” Greg agreed, his hand already feeling cold. He wrapped his arms around himself.

Mycroft gave him a sharp nod before he slowly turned around and opened the door of his car. Greg took the opportunity to glance inside but saw no one else. Anthea must still be at the office taking care of things.

Greg waved to him as Mycroft bent down to slide inside onto the back seat; he continued waving as the door closed behind Mycroft and the car pulled away to make its way down the road.

Once the car was finally out of sight Greg turned around and walked back towards where Sherlock was still waiting by the dead body, looking very annoyed and impatient. When he was close enough Greg called out, “Alright Sherlock, what have you got?”  
____


	2. Chapter 2

As Sherlock continued consulting more frequently on more cases he quickly grew comfortable enough to be himself on investigations and around the other officers. Of course Greg wanted Sherlock to be himself because the boy was a genius and he didn’t want the boy to be anything he wasn’t. Yet Sherlock’s sharp personality and impatience for idiocy began to cause tension between Sherlock and the other officers he interacted with. It wasn’t long before by unspoken agreement Greg became the unofficial Yard representative tasked solely with the responsibility of looking after Sherlock.

He was always the one to bring Sherlock to consult on cases and make sure everything was in order where Sherlock was involved. Along with the growing tension, the other officers took longer to share Greg’s confidence about how helpful Sherlock could be. The few who did try to have Sherlock consult on their cases quickly learned how much of a handful the boy could be, including his blatant disregard of the rules. Afterwards those officers went to Greg instead as a go-between when they wanted Sherlock’s help.

At least there was proof that more cases were getting closed in a shorter time, even the complicated or strange ones. Sherlock’s tense and icy relationship with the rest of the Yard was an ongoing problem Greg could work on, however long the boy continued working with them. And Greg hoped with all of his strength that Sherlock did continue consulting for the foreseeable future because he was very good at it, and helped provide a point of view the rest of them didn’t see.

It was very impressive watching Sherlock at work at crime scenes or in the midst of figuring out a solution while they conferred back in the office. He really was a genius; Greg just wished he wasn’t the only one who could see Sherlock’s genius beyond his abrasive personality. Greg wanted to believe that Sherlock was on his way to being a great man. 

As months went by working with Sherlock, investigating, and closing cases, Greg kept a watchful eye out for anyone Sherlock interacted positively with or managed to converse with without it devolving into an exchange of insults or one of them storming away. For now the boy was happy solving cases for the Yard and using his genius to put away criminals. But a quiet voice in the back of Greg’s mind wondered if the boy would ever find that person who would be his partner and would remain at his side. The longer they continued working together and the more people Greg saw Sherlock drive away except for the constant of Greg and Mycroft, the more he began to worry. He would never tell Sherlock or admit it out loud, but he had a very strong feeling Sherlock needed such a person.

On one of their cases Greg convinced Sherlock to join him on a trip to the morgue to hear the results of what happened to their victim. It was the first time Sherlock had come with him since before now he couldn’t be bothered with visiting. Recently a new woman started working at the morgue who had already impressed Greg with her attitude and detailed work. In his experience she’d proven she knew her way around a dead body and was very level-headed, which was impressive in such a field.

By bringing Sherlock along Greg also had somewhat of an ulterior motive as he secretly hoped Sherlock would also be impressed with Molly Hooper. Maybe she could be another work colleague Sherlock would actually manage to get along with and even appreciate. Greg had quickly learned that one thing Sherlock did appreciate were people who were highly accomplished in their work. (Greg was pretty sure Sherlock appreciated him but then again Sherlock always called him the best of the idiots at the yard). If Greg’s instincts weren’t completely off maybe they could even be more.

Greg continued to be hopeful up until Sherlock pushed his way through the doors of the morgue half a step ahead of Greg, and Molly Hooper looked up to see who it was. She offered Greg a slight smile when she recognized him, but then her gaze skipped to Sherlock and her eyes went wide in surprise.

Greg quickly followed Sherlock, trying to break the tension by greeting Molly then introducing her and Sherlock to each other. But Sherlock barely even glanced at her; instead he went directly over to the body waiting on the table and began inspecting it.

And Molly, who was usually soft spoken but very professional, stuttered out a greeting while staring down at her clipboard.

The longer they spent in the morgue with Molly the more convinced Greg became that she was not the right partner for Sherlock. Once Molly and Greg joined him by the body and Molly began detailing her findings about their victim, Sherlock finally paid attention to her, listening to her words and asking questions Molly mostly managed to answer without stumbling. But he barely looked at her or even looked her in the eye once. Even while Molly mostly ignored Greg to focus on Sherlock.

Of course Greg didn’t really blame her; Sherlock could be a whirlwind of nature on a good day and even more imposing at his worst. Greg even had trouble reining Sherlock in on some days. But if Sherlock considered Molly as a professional colleague he could depend on Greg would still be happy. Because with everyone Sherlock had managed to drive away, he needed some people who were willing to work with him.

As they continued working together over the years, while Molly never seemed to quite get over her initial crush on Sherlock (which sadly was obvious enough they all could see it), she did repeatedly prove her worth as an expert until Molly was the only one in the morgue who would work with or even willingly be in the same room as Sherlock.

So while Greg’s initial feeling that she and Sherlock would work well together in a professional sense was correct, his hope that they could potentially have a personal relationship had been completely wrong.  
___

Greg didn’t know if the rapidly downward spiraling of his own personal relationship was affecting his ability for finding matches, or if this was just one of those times when he was trying too hard and his ability refused to work on demand. He knew he could always ring his mum and ask her, since she had more experience using her ability and she had somehow managed to find her own perfect match. But a part of Greg didn’t want to have to admit to his mum that his marriage was practically in ruins and he was just trying to hold it all together before it slipped away. It was one of the consequences of their gift that they were never able to use it to find their own matches; it always had to happen naturally. Greg had eventually accepted this, but he was also left wondering and trying to understand just how he had got it so wrong this time.

When he was alone with his own thoughts or lying alone in bed in the dark, Greg was able to admit to himself that he enjoyed the moments he spent with Mycroft in person or over the phone more than the strained and tense interactions whenever he and his wife tried to spend time with each other. Greg didn’t want to make an unfair comparison between the two of them; they were just so different parts of his life.

And Greg wasn’t ready to give up on his marriage just yet.

So while he continued putting enormous effort into his work to prove to her and to himself that he had made the right career decision and was an exceptional officer, Greg also made sure to put more effort into his marriage. He tried to keep the lines of communication open, even as they struggled sharing space, and to find ways to recreate the early days of their marriage when (he thought) they had been happy. But Greg was also unable to completely shut out Mycroft from his life. They didn’t meet in person quite as often - because of political issues Mycroft had to resolve or because Greg was busy with a case or personal issues - but the number of phone calls between them were just as frequent and lengthy.

For months Greg continued fighting to succeed in all the different parts of his life while struggling to balance everything important in his life. He thought, he hoped, he was being successful.

Then one seemingly ordinary morning Greg was called into his superior’s office and told that due to all of his hard work and impressive solve rate he was being promoted.

It was everything Greg had hoped for and had been working toward. He could barely contain his excitement long enough to say thank you before leaving the office and returning to his desk. His colleagues quickly realized something had happened and came over to congratulate him. Once all the congratulations were shared and handshakes or back pats given, everyone went back to their own desks and Greg was left alone to share the news as he wanted.

He knew that really the first person he should share the news with should be his wife, and hope that she was just as excited as he was. But somehow Greg found himself scrolling past her name in his contacts to hover over Mycroft’s instead.

It was the middle of the work day and Mycroft was probably in the middle of preventing a war or forcing politicians to see reason or whatever classified work he did all day. But Greg still wanted to tell him the good news, even if it was just to his voicemail.

Greg selected Mycroft’s name then put the phone to his ear to listen and wait until it finally rang out. Mycroft didn’t have a message, so Greg took a breath and started talking:

“Er, hi, Mycroft. Should’ve expected to get your answering message. You’re probably busy saving the world. Just wanted to let you know that I have exciting news I wanted to share with you. You probably already know, or have figured it out, but I still wanted to tell you. So, um, call me back when you can.”

Next he texted his wife to tell her he had exciting news to share the next time they saw each other or when she called him back. The past few days they hadn’t been home at the same time and had exchanged only a few texts with each other. He didn’t know if this would change anything between them but he hoped it would be something both of them were happy about.

Throughout the rest of the day Greg found himself checking his phone for new messages every few minutes, especially since he was stuck at his desk working on all his paperwork. A few of his colleagues came in from being out investigating and drifted over to congratulate him once they heard the news.

But as the day went on and it grew closer to the end of his shift Greg still hadn’t heard from either of the two people he wanted to hear from the most. He had finally managed to finish nearly all of his paperwork though.

Then finally with just five minutes left his mobile finally lit up. Greg practically sprang out of his chair to grab his phone and read the new message.

It was from Mycroft, short but with good news:

Apologies, I was trapped in a meeting with a simpleton masquerading as a government official. I’m afraid I am preoccupied for most of the rest of the evening; however I could find the time for a brief meal in your company. I remember you enjoyed the French bistro where we previously ate. Could we meet there in half an hour?

As if Greg could refuse an opportunity to spend time, however brief, with Mycroft. He quickly texted back his confirmation. A minute later when the clock finally ticked over to the new hour Greg gathered up all of his things, pulled on his coat, and rushed out the door.

While he and Mycroft were in the middle of their main course, because of course when they went out to eat together they went somewhere with multiple courses, Greg finally received a reply from his wife. He paused in the middle of his story about Sherlock’s latest antics at a crime scene to dig his phone out and check the message.

It was short and, if Greg was interpreting it correctly, rather frosty. All she wrote was that she was glad he had exciting news but she already had plans for the night and would probably be out of touch for the entirety of her and her girlfriends’ weekend. 

It wasn’t the response he had expected but it wasn’t as awful as he’d dreaded.

So Greg put it out of his mind and went back to enjoying the rest of his dinner with Mycroft, the delicious food, and their always entertaining conversations.  
____

The next few days went by for Greg in a bit of a haze as he tried to settle into his new position at the Yard and find his footing again.

He now had an office, which he discovered was very nice when he needed a break from the work area outside and only had to close the door. It also meant he had more space to spread out his things, including all of his case files, which probably was not what he was meant to do with all this room but oh well.

Of course his new position also came with a number of new important responsibilities. Greg found himself being looked up to for advice and for orders by a group of officers he had been a part of just a few days ago. Greg hoped during his time working with them he’d proven himself as dependable, genial, and trustworthy so this transition wouldn’t be too difficult or strange for all of them. A new sargeant also joined their new team, a Sergeant Donovan who Greg had been told was considered promising. 

Sherlock didn’t actually say out loud or in as many words that he was proud of Greg for his promotion, but he did seem to enjoy the newfound increased access to cases that came with Greg’s promotion. To Greg’s increasing frustration Sherlock did not take the opportunity to try and improve his relationship with Greg’s officers. The animosity between all of them continued to be as icy as ever, which meant in addition to everything else Greg had to keep watch if it went any further. He knew it was probably impossible, but Greg did want to try to make sure everyone was happy.

When the weekend was over and the new week began Greg did finally hear from his wife and talked to her long enough to share his good news. She was surprisingly more indifferent to the news of his promotion than Greg had been expecting. He knew their relationship wasn’t at its best right now, but he had hoped she would be impressed and excited about what this meant for them. Greg didn’t know how to interpret her reaction, especially when even though she said she was coming home they never seemed to be there at the same time.

After that late celebratory dinner with Mycroft several days went by without Greg hearing anything from the other man. Silence from Mycroft wasn’t completely unusual or very worrying since the man was responsible for keeping the world in line (and a danger prone brother to watch out for). But Greg found himself checking his mobile for a new message or a missed call more often than was probably necessary.

Greg was at the point of silently wishing their quiet streak at work would end and they’d finally catch an interesting case when mid morning there was a quiet knock on his door.

He’d just sent Donovan off to get a new round of coffee for everyone with his card while everyone else was working or pretending to work at their desks. He still wasn’t quite used to having his own office, but Greg looked up from his computer screen and called out, “It’s open!”

The door opened to reveal a visitor Greg had not expected- Anthea, Mycroft’s personal assistant.

In the time Greg had known Mycroft he’d only spoken to Anthea a handful of times, even fewer on his own without Mycroft. She was just as beautiful and skilled as Greg had expected but they’d barely exchanged words since she always stayed in the background of where Mycroft was. Greg knew that Mycroft would probably be lost without her, or not as capable of quietly running the world from the shadows. But he didn’t know Anthea herself very well; which if he and Mycroft were going to continue spending so much time together Greg decided he probably should.

He stood up from his desk, pushing his chair back as he greeted her with a hopefully sincere sounding, “Anthea, this is a surprise. What brings you by?”

She offered him a faint smile, pushing the door open the rest of the way with an expensive high heel as she balanced on her other foot and held a small, overflowing gift basket in one hand. “Mr Holmes is out of the country for the foreseeable future, and wanted me to express his regrets. Especially since he was unable to inform you before he left. He also insisted I bring you a congratulatory gift basket to celebrate your promotion.”

Anthea set the basket she’d been carrying in a small cleared space on his desk. “They are mainly Mr. Holmes’ selections but I did pick a few things and ensembled the basket.” She winked at him, slowly sinking into the chair on the other side of his desk. “I believe you’ll find everything quite satisfactory.”

“I’m sure I will,” Greg agreed, leaning over to try and see inside the basket. “You didn’t go with him?”

“We aren’t inseparable, Detective Inspector.” Anthea sounded a little chiding even as she smiled faintly. “This was a simple meeting, mostly for appearances sake. Mr Holmes needs me to stay here and mind things in his absence.”

“Nothing as important to the survival of the British government as delivering celebratory gift baskets to newly promoted Detective Inspectors,” Greg attempted to joke, shocked by what looked like very high quality coffee beans and selection of tea, a bottle of what he was pretty sure was very expensive scotch, and several imported chocolate bars amongst the tissue paper.

When she didn’t respond Greg quickly looked up at her, wincing slightly. “Don’t get me wrong, this is great.” It was more than great, it was one of the best and kindest gifts he’d ever received.

“Mr Holmes felt this was of enough importance to entrust me with instead of simply ordering it online and allowing a stranger to ensemble this for you. If he had not had to leave the country I believe he would have taken care of it all himself.” She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him; Greg wondered if she had learned it from Mycroft or if she’d always been able to do that. “I hope you realize just how significant this is and how indicative it is of your importance to him.”

That sounded dangerously like being told Mycroft considered him as something more than just a close acquaintance. Greg didn’t really know what to make of that or exactly how he felt about it.

“You seem to be pretty important to him too,” Greg pointed out, deciding to try and direct the conversation away from trying to define his relationship to Mycroft. “I don’t think he’d be willing to leave the country with anyone else in charge.”

“True,” Anthea conceded with a faint nod. “Since I began working for Mr Holmes he has been tirelessly training me in the important details and intricacies of his work. Mainly so I could take over if he was unavailable and he can trust me to make the right decisions. I pride myself in knowing Mr. Holmes trusts and has confidence in me concerning something so important to him.”

“As I believe you are aware, Mr Holmes views his work as absolutely essential to his life and the survival of the world overall. In the past I believe one could say that his life only consisted of his work and looking out for his brother. Yet recently that has changed. He never used to leave to eat meals out, in fact it used to be difficult to get him to stop working to eat. Mr Holmes would rarely use his phone for non work related matters or answer it while he was working. He also used to consider it his personal responsibility to keep Sherlock alive. Mr. Holmes would never delegate anything regarding his brother, instead he always took care of everything himself. And yet,” Anthea finished, giving him a significant look as if Greg should realize the importance of this, “Now Mr Holmes has entrusted you with looking after Sherlock and consulting for you on cases. He willingly leaves the office to join you for meals and answers his mobile when you call with what could be considered excitement.”

Well, this was the most Anthea had ever said to him directly. And Greg really wished he could just collapse into his chair and have it swallow him whole. Sure he enjoyed himself every time he spent time with or chatted with Mycroft, and it did make him happy to hear the other man enjoyed their time together just as much. But Greg had a hard time believing he’d made such a difference in Mycroft’s life. He wasn’t that important.

“What about you, I hope you have something more in your life than just work,” Greg said after struggling a little to come up with something to move the conversation on. He hoped she would continue talking so he could decide how he felt about her revelation of how Mycroft had apparently changed. 

The corner of Anthea’s mouth twisted up in a very definite smirk. “While I don’t believe that is your concern, I’m afraid you don’t even have the basic requirements of what I would look for.”

Greg was frowning at her, hoping he was interpreting that correctly and not accidentally judging, when the door to his office flew open.

Sally burst in, somehow managing to juggle takeaway cups of hopefully hot, delicious coffee and paper bags filler with pastries. She looked a little frazzled, which made Greg wonder if the rest of his team had been just as desperate for caffeine as he was.

Greg was out of his chair and moving around his desk in seconds, maneuvering around boxes and stacks of files he hadn’t put away or organized yet. 

But Anthea was faster. She quickly and very calmly walked up to Sally and managed to take the takeaway cups out of her hands without making Sally lose her grip on anything.

As she was suddenly relieved of the coffee cups, Sally’s startled gaze met Anthea’s patiently calm one; and Greg didn’t have to be a Holmes-level genius to interpret the expressions on their faces. It seemed like a match could flare to life even during a chance meeting in the middle of the Yard.

Hoping he was actually helping, Greg took advantage of their momentary stunned silence to conduct introductions. “Anthea, this is Sergeant Sally Donovan. She just started on my team.” Sally offered a faint smile, still looking a little dazed. “Donovan, this is Anthea, she works for a… acquaintance of mine in... the government,” Greg fumbled a bit as he realized he didn’t know how to describe his and Mycroft’s relationship or what Mycroft’s actual official title was.

“I’m the personal assistant to an important minor government official,” Anthea corrected, glancing over at Greg who could barely even begin to point out how understated that was. 

She set the takeaway cups down on Greg’s desk, took the paper bags out of Sally’s hands to set them next to the coffees, then finally held out her hand to Sally. “I imagine we’ll be working together often. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Right, it’s nice to meet you too,” Sally replied a little awed, looking to Greg as if he would be any help. He was just happy to discover two more people who were meant to be a part of each other’s lives. Greg had a feeling Anthea and Sally would be seeing much more of each other from now on and he would be seeing even more of Anthea.

He was honestly very happy for them. It wasn’t every day you found your perfect partner.


	3. Chapter 3

Months later Greg knew he was in shock, but the single frantic thought running repeatedly through his head was I should have seen this coming.

Once he could objectively look back on the last few months, or the last year honestly, he would probably be able to see all the signs leading to this. But right now he just felt hurt. He’d thought they were doing better, that the connection they shared was beginning to recover and just maybe they’d find their way back to how it’d been when they were first married.

Apparently he’d been completely clueless and she’d been taking him for a fool. They hadn’t seen each other for days at a time, either because of his casework or irregular hours or because supposedly she’d been working late or was staying over at a friend’s. She’d claimed she was pleased about his promotion and didn’t mind his irregular schedule or that he could be called away at any time. They hadn’t had a meal together or spent time alone since he couldn’t remember when.

Tonight, after an exhausting day of investigating that hadn’t turned up any leads so far, he’d come home only wanting to collapse on the sofa with a beer. Instead he’d found an uncomfortably silent flat pointedly empty of all her belongings and a large envelope waiting for him on the kitchen counter.

A part of him had known what was inside, even as he picked up the envelope and opened it to find very legal looking divorce papers… and a short handwritten note.

Greg wasn’t sure how long he sat frozen in the chair; he’d lost track of time as he read the short note that said no one was exactly to blame but they’d both known this was coming and all he had to do was sign the papers and send them to her lawyer, then they’d both be free.

It was apparently just that simple to put an end to the longest and most significant relationship in his life.

Greg felt like he should do something; he needed to tell someone what had happened, to share this unexpected destruction of a large part of his life. But when he wrestled out his mobile and unlocked it to scroll through his contacts, it was Mycroft’s name not his mum’s that Greg found himself selecting almost on autopilot.

He knew it was late and Mycroft was either still at the office working or at home trying to relax, but Greg still wanted to talk to him, listening closely as the phone began to ring.

On the sixth or seventh ring, after Greg started worrying Mycroft wouldn’t pick up at all, it finally connected. Mycroft answered with a friendly but curious, “Gregory? Did we have plans for this evening? I don’t have anything scheduled.”

“Mycroft,” was all Greg managed to say before his voice broke; Mycroft sounded so pleased to hear from him even though he must be confused since he hadn’t expected or planned to talk to Greg. It was a long time since Greg remembered anyone other than his parents greeting him so warmly.

Mycroft was silent, and amidst the fresh wave of despair that ran through his body Greg could practically hear Mycroft’s brain working even over the distance between them.

The clock in the kitchen counted the seconds as they went by until finally Greg heard Mycroft exhale sharply in his ear, offering a quiet, apologetic, “Oh, Gregory. I am very sorry.”

“Thanks,” Greg answered, running a weary hand over his face, became wasn’t that what you were supposed to say? 

But he had to ask, because even though he knew the seeming omniscience wasn’t completely real but actually a Holmes characteristic, if anyone could have seen this coming it was a Holmes. “Did-did you know?”

There was no response for a while, and Greg started to worry about what Mycroft would say. He appreciated that Mycroft was apparently trying to choose his words carefully, unlike Sherlock. But Greg also needed to know if he was the only one completely blindsided by this.

“I observed that recently you seemed to be in increasingly poor spirits for an extended length of time and appeared to be worrying deeply about something. After I concluded that it must be concerning a personal matter since your work has not slipped at all following your promotion, it was a simple process of deduction to come to the correct conclusion that your marriage must be in peril.” 

Following that shock of information that told Greg he had either been very transparent or Mycroft was even more observant than Greg had ever given him credit for, Mycroft exhaled quietly and said with uncharacteristic regret, “To be honest with you Gregory I did very much want to help you and ease your worry but was unsure what would be considered acceptable. I suppose now that matters have come to their regrettable conclusion there is no help I can offer you.”

“Actually,” Greg said with a weak attempt at a laugh, “I think there is something you could do for me.”

“What would that be?” Mycroft asked, sounding delightfully eager for the answer. “I do have a significant amount of influence I could put into action on your word.”

“No, Mycroft, nothing like that,” Greg quickly refused, not even wanting to know what lengths Mycroft might go to for him. “It’s just, I know we didn’t have plans tonight, but if you’re free I could really use a drink. Or several.”

“Of course,” Mycroft agreed much more eagerly than Greg expected. Apparently Mycroft was honestly happy to help in any way he could, even if it wasn’t with any of the resources available to him. “If it is all the same to you I would rather not venture out in public for said drink. However, if you would like to join me at my club I can arrange for your preferred beverage and a meal to be ready when you arrive.”

“I’m not as surprised as I think I should be that you apparently belong to a club,” Greg told the other man, somehow finding it in himself to laugh. “But I’d never turn down an offer of a drink and a meal. Are you allowed to give me directions?”

Mycroft did give him very detailed directions to this club of his, and then surprised Greg by continuing with directions for what to do and how to act once he was inside. Eventually Greg couldn’t tell if Mycroft was making this up or being truthful, which made him even more determined to see this place for himself.

“All right,” Greg finished writing down the last of Mycroft’s instructions, “If I manage to find my way there and I’m allowed inside this exclusive club of yours then I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll make sure you’re allowed entrance and treated appropriately, Gregory,” Mycroft promised confidently. “A cold beverage and a hot meal will be waiting for you.”

“Sounds perfect, Mycroft. Really, thank you,” Greg told him again, trying to convey just how grateful he was for Mycroft’s understanding and his willingness to spend time with him even if Greg knew he was probably a mess right now.

“No problem at all, Gregory,” Mycroft insisted kindly. “See you soon.”  
____

Greg made his way to the address Mycroft had given him and found the entrance that was probably purposefully designed to be very easy to overlook. When an older man in a uniform answered the door Greg continued to follow Mycroft’s directions, and was only a little surprised when the man let him enter and led him down a long carpeted hallway with dark wood paneling and old-fashioned light fixtures on the walls. The absolute silence was unnerving, but Mycroft had been very adamant.

He finally discovered Mycroft in a side room nearly at the end of the hallway. It was very welcoming and looked like the perfect place to relax after a long day. Mycroft definitely appeared at home amongst the antique-looking chairs, walls of bookcases, and already blazing fireplace.

There was a table set in front of Mycroft with multiple covered plates and Mycroft was in the midst of pouring drinks for both of them, looking up to greet Greg with a pleased smile.

Greg quickly hurried across the room to join him.  
_

A full stomach and several drinks later Greg had slid down in his chair and had his feet propped up on the cushions. In between fits of laughter he was trying to convince Mycroft not to enact revenge on his soon to be ex wife in ways that began with getting her in trouble with the government and escalated to having her disappear off the face of the earth. Early in their acquaintance Greg might have been alarmed by the power and influence Mycroft was showing off. But now he actually felt pleased Mycroft was making such offers, even as he rushed to convince Mycroft they weren’t necessary.  
_

A drink or two later with an offering of desserts laid out on the table in front of them, Mycroft brought up a government charity function happening in a few months. 

Greg vaguely remembered it being mentioned to him soon after his promotion along with his mandatory attendance. But after he heard Mycroft would also be present, a man who Greg knew did not enjoy the public eye or being the center of attention, he was slightly more willing to go. At least if Mycroft was there he’d have him for company and as someone to talk to instead of standing against the wall all night or trying (and probably failing) to converse with the politicians and government officials attending without secretly wanting to strangle them.

It also helped his decision that it was a charity function where any money raised or exchanged was towards a good cause. With such an exclusive group of attendees Greg only hoped everyone would be very generous and raise an impressive amount of money.  
_____

Months later when the time came Greg was no longer so certain this was a good idea.

He was dressed in his nicest and only formal suit hanging in his closet, with a shirt and tie he hoped all went together, and shoes he’d meticulously shined that morning. Greg hoped he looked nice and respectable enough to blend in with the crowd and not make it obvious he didn’t belong.

Their plan for the evening had been to arrive at the event together; not only did Mycroft have a car and driver but being together and by each other’s side from the very beginning would make everything that followed less intimidating or terrifying. And for any last minute fixes.

But earlier that morning Mycroft had called him to say there’d been a last minute addition to his calendar for that evening just before the charity event. Mycroft was of course incredibly apologetic, promising Greg he would have put it off until tomorrow but this really was important and needed to take place as soon as possible. Given how often Greg prioritized his own work, he reassured Mycroft in turn that he understood and he’d be perfectly fine getting there on his own.

Greg was confident he’d be perfectly fine, up until he entered the spacious private ballroom space reserved for the event and nearly turned around and fled. 

He had never been somewhere so obviously catered towards the wealthy and high society types of people who could afford a place here. There were tiered chandeliers spaced along the ceiling, heavy floor length curtains pulled over the windows on one side and gold colored pillars between floor to ceiling mirrors on the other wall.

He had made an extra effort to dress up and look nice for this event, but some of the men Greg spotted right off were wearing tuxes and the ladies were all in beautiful brightly colored gowns. The few pairs dancing in the cleared space at the other end of the room could have been straight out of a historical photograph.

Greg slowly shifted along the wall next to the doors, hoping to escape anyone’s immediate notice. He found a small nook where he could stand just slightly back from the rest of the room. He had made it, he was here; he just needed to be patient and wait until Mycroft arrived and not do anything disastrous in the meantime.

Donovan had mentioned earlier that she was also planning to come to this event. Greg had been surprised, until Sally admitted Anthea had invited her as her plus one. He’d been happy for her and glad their relationship at least seemed to be progressing happily.

But he didn’t see either of them yet. Anthea was probably still with Mycroft and they were both hopefully on their way or soon to be. Or she and Sally were coming together.

His stomach helpfully reminded him he hadn’t eaten since early that afternoon when he’d grabbed a quick lunch of instant noodles. Nearby there was a long table covered in a delicate white tablecloth and elaborate floral table decorations with large platters and dishes of food that even from this distance looked delicious. There was also a bar set up in the other corner where some people had already gathered, but Greg thought it might be a little early for that yet.

He was halfway to the table with all its offerings of food when his luck of not running into anyone he personally knew came to a crashing end. Greg saw his DCI walking towards him and looking directly at him, already wearing a smile.

“Lestrade!” The man boomed in greeting, grabbing Greg’s hand as soon as he was close enough and giving a very strong handshake. “Glad to see you made it.”

“Yes, sir,” Greg agreed, trying not to wince as his hand was squeezed. “Happy to be here.”

“Good man.” An over enthusiastic slap on his upper arm. “Enjoy yourself tonight, Lestrade. This is a good opportunity for you.” The man grinned, still gripping Greg’s hand. “And there’s plenty of food and drinks, so indulge yourself a little, eh?”

“Yes sir,” Greg agreed again, forcing his voice to remain mildly polite as his hand was finally released. He didn’t like to judge but it seemed like the man had already began indulging himself.

“Good man, good man,” Greg was told with another heavy pat to his shoulder before the man wandered off again and left Greg alone.

Greg quickly hurried the rest of the way to the banquet table laid with food and began filling a plate. If he was going to be forced to interact with these people and take advantage of this ‘good opportunity’ then he needed food in his stomach. There were already other people moving along the length of the table but Greg only nodded and offered polite smiles while avoiding actually engaging in a conversation.

He was at the end of the table with the desserts when an all too familiar but very welcome voice spoke in his ear.

“Were you planning to leave some of the desserts for everyone else or shall we take an entire platter for ourselves? The pudding in particular looks delectable.”

Greg turned, a wide and sincerely pleased smile spreading across his face. “Mycroft!” He greeted happily, wishing his hands weren’t full.

Then his next words failed as he caught himself openly staring at Mycroft as his brain caught up to what his eyes were seeing. He was probably making the other man uncomfortable, but while he had seen Mycroft in his typical three piece suits multiple times over the years, tonight the man was wearing a tux.

He knew it had taken him too long to speak again when Mycroft’s own pleased smile faded slightly and uncertainty began to creep into his eyes.

“Mycroft,” Greg said again, clearing his throat. “It’s so good to see you. I guess your meeting went well?”

“Very well, yes,” Mycroft agreed, his sincere smile recovering to make an appearance again. “Anthea and I are very pleased with the results.”

Greg tore his eyes away from Mycroft long enough to glance around the room for any sign of Anthea or Sally. “Are they here yet?”

“No, Anthea insisted on changing into something more appropriate for such an event before picking up Sergeant Donovan.” Mycroft eyed the dishes on the table in front of them with a wary, faint frown, and Greg was reminded how every time they went out to eat Mycroft always seemed particular about what he ordered. “They should be here shortly.”

“Well, that’s all right. We can find ways to enjoy ourselves,” Greg decided, keeping his voice light and cheerful. “First, let’s get you some food. I haven’t tried anything, but it all looks delicious.”

“Oh, Gregory, I’m not-” Mycroft attempted to protest as Greg took his arm and began to lead him back towards the other end of the table.  
__

After they filled plates with a selection of food (Greg’s was piled higher than Mycroft’s but he hoped to convince the other man to at least try some of his) Mycroft and Greg returned to Greg’s earlier retreat against the wall.

Mycroft mentioned he would eventually have to at least make a round of the room to socialize with people he knew and make an appearance. But in the meantime he and Greg hovered by the wall and out of the way as they picked their way through the food and chatted.

It wasn’t that long since they’d last seen each other, but they still found everything and anything to talk about. Greg was just enjoying being in Mycroft’s company and with someone he liked in a room of all these important strangers.

Mycroft may have better social skills than his brother, which was a relief, but one trait they shared were their observation and deduction skills. While Mycroft wasn’t as showy or brazen about sharing them as Sherlock, Greg still enjoyed hearing what Mycroft had observed and deduced about the people around them. It helped with Greg’s discomfort, and more than once he’d had to stifle laughter as someone passed. Which Mycroft had probably done on purpose.

As they continued talking Greg kept a watchful eye and ear out for anyone Mycroft seemed to watch or talk about differently than everyone else. Of course Greg was grateful to be as significant a part of Mycroft’s life as he was. But Mycroft deserved to also have someone who could be his partner and his equal. Mycroft spent more time with these politicians and government officials who were much more equal to him than he did with Greg, who was just a lowly DI. Greg only hoped there was at least one of them who could be the partner Mycroft deserved.

But Greg didn’t pick up on anything special and his gift didn’t offer any extra insight. Mycroft barely looked at the other attendees beyond offering a polite smile and an acknowledging nod to a few specific people as they went past. Otherwise he seemed to be giving Greg all of his attention.

Once they’d finished almost everything on their plates Mycroft and Greg ventured away from the wall and in the direction of the bar set up in the corner, carefully skirting around the clusters of people and whirling dancers.

They had almost successfully made it to the bar when a man Greg had only seen on televised public events hurried up to them, looking very excitable and pleased with himself.

“Mr. Holmes! Mycroft,” the man greeted Mycroft enthusiastically, sounding more over familiar than honestly pleased to see Mycroft. 

Greg glanced sideways at Mycroft just in time to see the ever so brief nose wrinkle of displeasure before Mycroft’s expression transitioned to his socially acceptable polite but inscrutable one.

“Prime Minister, I see you are quite enjoying yourself this evening. It has been quite a difficult several months for all of us, I’m sure. We should all take this evening to enjoy ourselves, since such an extravagant event certainly calls for it.”

Greg barely restrained his urge to turn and stare at Mycroft. He had never heard that tone from Mycroft, not even during their first meeting as he’d been judged if he deserved to be around Sherlock. If Greg were a more fanciful person he’d claim he could feel the ice creeping across his skin.

The Prime Minister was either immune to Mycroft’s tone or had had enough to drink to shrug it off. “Quite right, Mycroft. Quite right. Now,” he reached out and slipped his arm through Mycroft’s, apparently used to getting his way without asking, “I need to talk to you about something very important-“

He started to lead Mycroft away as he spoke. Greg reached out as if he could grab Mycroft’s other arm and pull him back away from the obnoxious man. But Mycroft sent him an apologetic and annoyed not quite eye roll over his shoulder as they drifted further away, so Greg let his arm fall back to his side.

He was left alone in the crowd in front of the bar but all of a sudden he didn’t feel thirsty anymore. Greg cast a glance around, hoping he didn’t look as desperate as he felt for a friendly face. But as far as he could tell Anthea and Sally still hadn’t arrived.

Greg wondered if anyone would notice if he returned to his station against the wall. Then a younger man walked directly up to him in a suit that looked tailored to within an inch of its life, his dark eyes sharp in his pale face and slicked hair falling over his forehead.

The man clutched at his wine glass, leaning in uncomfortably close to Greg, and demanded, without introducing himself, “How do you do it?”

“S-sorry?” Greg asked, forgetting he should be especially polite since this man was probably important somewhere in the government.

“How do you do it?” The man asked again slowly, over enunciating the words and sounding just a touch impatient. “I’ve never seen the ‘Ice Man’ act so familiar with anyone. You must have a secret, what is it?”

“The ‘Ice Man’?” Greg parroted, confused by what he thought must be a nickname but it was a ridiculous one. Who would be callous enough to call someone an ‘Ice Man’?

“Holmes, Mr. Holmes,” the man revealed, flapping his hand at Greg as he shook his head impatiently. “How did you manage to get so friendly with him? He rarely graces the rest of us with his attention, he’s too busy with his classified work.”

“I don’t actually work with Mycroft regularly,” Greg confessed, wishing this horrible man would just go away. Sure Mycroft could be distant and often prioritized his work above everything else, but he wasn’t an ‘Ice Man.’ “I’m a Detective Inspector at the yard. His brother consults with us sometimes.”

“Ah, yes,” the man nodded knowingly. “The brother.” His thin lips curled into a smirk. “No one really knows anything about him. Just that he exists and he’s untouchable. No one dares.”

Well, at least Mycroft’s overprotectiveness of Sherlock was known to all of Mycroft’s colleagues. If Greg wasn’t as close to Mycroft and didn’t know the man so well, he’d be afraid to mess with Sherlock too. “He’s a bit of a wild creature, but he’s just as brilliant as Mycroft.”

“Interesting,” the man mused, but his gaze wandered away from Greg as if he was no longer interested in their conversation. “Mr. Holmes is very intelligent, any of us would admit that. But no one enjoys being around him any longer than necessary. I don’t understand how you stand it.”

That warm flame flared to life deep inside of Greg, right along with his rising temper. This man was being so horrible and callous towards Mycroft when he probably barely knew Mycroft at all. But he somehow thought himself worthy to judge Mycroft.

“Listen-” Greg hissed, his temper so close to snapping as he raised a hand to point a threatening finger at the man.

Before Greg could say anything else and tell him off, the other man waved a hand dismissively at Greg and walked away.

Greg stood silently fuming, barely noticing the other people who walked by. In all his life he had rarely felt as angry and indignant on someone else’s behalf as he did right now. How did none of Mycroft’s colleagues realize that in addition to being genius level intelligent he was also a good person? Mycroft might not show it very easily, but it sounded like none of his colleagues had even tried to get to know Mycroft beyond his normal aloof facade.

Greg was jerked out of his darkly spiraling thoughts by Anthea’s sudden appearance in front of him. “Here, you look like you need this.” She pushed a glass of something alcoholic into his hand. “Don’t listen to anything that man says, he’s a snake. I doubt anyone actually likes him.”

“Did you know?” Greg demanded, narrowing his eyes at her. He ignored the glass in his hand for the moment in favor of finding out if he’d been the only one ignorant of Mycroft’s nickname by his colleagues.

She tilted her head at him with a slight frown. “Did I know what, Lestrade?” Anthea sipped at her glass of what he suspected was champagne.

“That apparently Mycroft’s colleagues all call him the ‘Ice Man’ behind his back,” Greg snapped. He didn’t really mean to take his anger out on her but he was impatient and angry. Of all the people here, Anthea was the only other person who knew Mycroft as well as he did, so she must know how ridiculous the nickname was.

Anthea didn’t quite flinch, but she did wince as she lowered the glass from her lips. “Unfortunately, yes,” she admitted regretfully. Then at Greg’s probably murderous expression Anthea quickly added, “And before you run off to find Mr. Holmes and tell him, he is fully aware of the nickname.”

“It’s shit, Anthea, and you know it,” Greg objected, tightening his hand around the stem of his glass. He was determined to fix this horrible wrong because people needed to know Mycroft wasn’t like that at all. “Mycroft isn’t an ‘Ice Man,’ he’s a good person!”

“Yes, Lestrade,” Anthea agreed patiently, reaching out to take the glass from him. “You and I both know better because we are lucky enough to be close with Mr. Holmes.” She treated him to a deeply knowing look. “In fact you are one of the very few people to become so familiar with Mr. Holmes. Therefore I’m sure we both understand that while in his line of work he must exhibit a certain detached attitude in order to make the necessary decisions, in everything else he is very different.”

“Yes, sure,” Greg agreed as his anger, and with it his temper, began to fade away. He’d seen Mycroft at his best when he was happy and pleased with himself and at his worst when he was annoyed or impatient with what he saw as failure. None of Mycroft’s colleagues had ever been given that insight. “But he doesn’t deserve that nickname.”

“Perhaps you should tell him that,” Anthea suggested, looking pleased at the idea. She turned a little to glance around the room and then sighed noisily once she located Mycroft. “I see the Prime Minister managed to find him. Mr. Holmes and I have been trying to avoid the man but he is annoyingly persistent. Here,” Anthea handed Greg his glass again for hopefully the final time. “Drink up while I go save Mr. Holmes from the Prime Minister and return him to you.”

She was gone before Greg could say anything and he was left standing there alone with a full glass in his hand. Greg sighed, eyed the glass, and downed it all.

As he walked back to his earlier retreat against the wall, Greg decided that if he was being honest with himself he probably would never have agreed to come to this event if Mycroft hadn’t come with him. Or if he’d never met Mycroft. 

Greg shivered, suddenly feeling unbearably cold at that horrible thought. If he’d never stumbled across Sherlock he never would have met Mycroft and his life would likely be very different. He definitely preferred his life as it was.

Sherlock and Mycroft had changed his life, in all good ways (mostly). It was strange to think of his life now without Sherlock or Mycroft as a part of it, especially Mycroft.

Strangely Greg couldn’t think of anyone else in his life he’d ever felt so close to or the same way about. Throughout his life Greg had had many friends and a few relationships, but Mycroft was unique and different from anyone Greg had ever met.

He was disturbed from his thoughts by the welcome sight of Mycroft now standing in front of him, offering another glass of wine and an apologetic faint smile.

“You and Anthea are trying to get me drunk,” Greg accused, laughing as he took the glass. “I see she successfully rescued you from the Prime Minister.”

“Yes, my deepest apologies, Gregory,” Mycroft offered with a faint grimace before taking a sip from his own glass. “For the most part the man is harmless but every once in a while he becomes an insistent pest.”

“I noticed you didn’t seem very happy about it. But it’s all right, since Anthea found me.” He drank from his glass, surprised when it tasted even better than whatever Anthea had given him. “Actually someone else found me first. I didn’t catch his name but he was very annoying and had some very nasty things to say about you.”

Mycroft’s expression quickly darkened to the extent that Greg almost expected Mycroft would find a way to have the man disposed of if Greg pointed him out. “I am so sorry, Gregory. I should have predicted that some people would see us together and feel the need to make a nuisance of themselves.”

“I was pretty close to losing my temper and decking the man, but Anthea talked me down.” Greg shifted closer to Mycroft, trying to shut out the rest of the room, and lowered his voice. “I could barely restrain myself when I found out they all call you the ‘Ice Man.’”

Mycroft looked more resigned than upset by the ridiculous nickname. He wrapped both hands around his glass, and Greg wondered if he would rather be holding his umbrella. “I do appreciate your anger on my behalf, Gregory. However, unsurprisingly there are office politics even within the British government. I am well known for being able to make the difficult decisions I face in my position; yet many of my colleagues feel this indicative of my being incapable of emotions.”

Mycroft glanced up at him, almost wary in a way that Greg hadn’t seen in years. “I hope that I have never given you any such indication in the time we’ve known each other.”

“God, no,” Greg hurried to reassure him, horrified Mycroft could even think such a thing. “Not at all, Mycroft. Actually I think you’re more capable of emotion than you know. Besides, they’re all idiots anyways if they refuse to get to know you well enough to know better.”

Mycroft’s mouth curved upward in just a faint hint of a smile. “Thank you, Gregory. I appreciate the sentiment; unfortunately it is not often found in my line of work. This has lead to my only having acquaintances and a distinct lack of people I would call ‘friends’ in my life.”

“That’s not true,” Greg insisted, refusing to let Mycroft believe that for another moment. “I like to think of us as friends.”

Mycroft went completely still, almost statue-like as he stared at Greg, blinking rapidly every so often.

Greg waited for Mycroft to recover from whatever this was, while he took the opportunity to enjoy his beverage. 

When minutes had passed and Mycroft was still frozen, Greg reached out to lightly shake Mycroft’s arm. “Mycroft, you all right?”

Mycroft inhaled shakily then finally seemed to recover, returning to life again. “My apologies, Gregory. That was… unexpected. I am truly honored to be called your friend. I hope you know that I also consider you a, a friend, in turn.”

Greg knew he was grinning at Mycroft but he couldn’t help it. It made him so happy to hear that. They had known each other for a long time now but it actually felt like forever. Earlier he’d thought he couldn’t imagine his life without Mycroft or even Sherlock, and this just confirmed that. 

There never had been and probably wouldn’t ever again be someone like Mycroft. He was just so unique and Greg was absolutely certain he had never felt the same way about anybody else.. (Not even towards his ex-wife or any of his friends throughout the years). 

It had started with that call on his mobile insisting he join Mycroft in his car to talk about Sherlock, when he’d been less intimidated and frightened than he should have, to right this moment when he could only think about Mycroft and how much the man had changed his life.

Throughout his life his gift had given him the ability to help people find their perfect partners and the happiness that hopefully followed. He’d never been able to use it to find his own perfect partner, instead having to rely on his own instincts. Sure, it had ended badly with his ex-wife, but maybe now here with Mycroft, he was being given a sign.

So Greg took a deep, steadying breath and took a chance at being brave.

“Actually,” he told Mycroft, taking a step closer and inside the man’s personal space. Greg counted it as a good sign when Mycroft didn’t move away or even look uncomfortable. “If you’re willing, I’d like to be more than friends.”

“More than-?” Mycroft tried to repeat, but trailed off looking very confused.

“Maybe we could start with going on a date together?” Greg suggested kindly, waiting for Mycroft to catch on with as much patience as he could muster. “It doesn’t have to be anything complicated, could just be dinner or going somewhere together?”

“We already have dinner with each other, and go places together,” Mycroft managed to say roughly, still sounding baffled by what Greg was suggesting.

“Yes,” Greg agreed, drawing out the word. Apparently even Mycroft’s brilliant brain was finding this difficult to understand. “But I meant romantically. I’d like to go on a date with you, Mycroft. A romantic one.”

Afraid Mycroft was about to return to his statue-like state, including the rapid-blinking, Greg decided to just say it outright in simple, easy to understand words. “It turns out I have feelings for you, Mycroft. Romantic feelings. I won’t pressure you if you don’t feel the same way, but I have a very strong hunch that you do.”

“I,” Mycroft blinked slowly, as if his brain was finally re-engaging. “I don’t normally allow myself to acknowledge such things, but,” Mycroft paused to raise his glass to his lips and quickly finish off the rest of his drink. 

Then he continued with a distinct pinkish hue to his pale cheeks, “I do in fact find myself feeling the same way about you. And I would very much like to go on a date, a romantic date, with you.”

Greg didn’t know how long he and Mycroft stood there just looking at each other and smiling happily at this significant change in their relationship. When the music stopped and a cheer went up from the other end of the room, the rest of their surroundings flooded back into Greg’s awareness, and he decided he’d had enough of this.

“Let’s get out of here, let’s go on that date right now,” Greg insisted, suddenly feeling impulsive. He took the glass from Mycroft and set it on a nearby table.

“Gregory-”

“Is there any actual reason why you’d have to stay any longer?” Greg asked, taking one of Mycroft’s hands in his and enjoying how the color in Mycroft’s cheeks darkened even more.

“N-no, not necessarily,” Mycroft admitted, seeming to be transfixed by the sight of Greg’s hand clasped around his. “I’ve already made the necessary greetings.”

“Then let’s go,” Greg repeated, tugging Mycroft along as he stepped away from the wall and towards the doors. “It’s still early enough in the evening that places will be open. I’m sure we’ll find somewhere that will take us.”

“That sounds wonderful, Gregory,” Mycroft confided with a beautifully pleased smile. “However, first I should let Anthea know we are leaving. Otherwise she may send a special team after us if I disappear.”

“Good idea,” Greg quickly agreed as they stopped just outside the doors. That was definitely something they wanted to avoid at all costs. “You should have her tell Sally too.”

“Of course.” Mycroft slipped his mobile out of his jacket pocket, unlocked it, and started typing rapidly. “If I haven’t said it before, thank you for bringing the two of them together. Your Sergeant has made Anthea very happy.”

“Well, Anthea’s definitely made Sally happy so I guess we all win,” Greg told him cheerfully as he waited for Mycroft to finish sending the message so they could leave already.

There was a quiet chime as a new message was received and Mycroft chuckled quietly under his breath.

“What? What did she say?” Greg asked, moving in closer to Mycroft and angling himself so he could read the words on Mycroft’s screen.

From: A:

I appreciate your telling me, sir. I’d hate to do anything drastic. 

And Sally and I would just like to say: It’s about (damn) time.

Sally also wants me to share her gratitude for helping her win our bet.

Greg started to laugh, warmth and happiness engulfing his entire body. He caught Mycroft’s eye as the other man started laughing along with him, his own happiness on display for everyone to see.

Yes, thought Greg giddily. It was about damn time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading everyone! I hope you enjoyed this story of mine!!  
> (Any kudos or comments are welcome :) )
> 
> An epilogue will be posted (hopefully) soon featuring the events of ASiP and Sherlock & John's meeting.
> 
> If you're on tumblr you can find me there as pippnfrodo!
> 
> Thanks again everyone!


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